


Oblique Navigation

by Tasyfa



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Canon Bisexual Character, Canon Disabled Character, Canon Gay Character, Good Guy Forrest Long, M/M, Maria DeLuca is a Good Friend, POV Alex Manes, POV Floating, POV Michael Guerin, Past Maria DeLuca/Michael Guerin, do not copy to other sites, post s2 almost: diverges at open mic night, starts forlex ends malex, unethical use of alien powers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-14 19:27:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 30,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29051385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tasyfa/pseuds/Tasyfa
Summary: After the events of Crash Con, everybody needs some time. To think, heal, consider next steps, discover - or confirm - who they are, and where they're going.Even if the path is a little roundabout.
Relationships: Forrest Long/Alex Manes, Maria DeLuca & Alex Manes, Michael Guerin/Alex Manes, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 177
Kudos: 111
Collections: Fandom Trumps Hate 2020





	1. New Directions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mander3_swish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mander3_swish/gifts).



> Mander was lovely enough to bid on a nebulous "season two canon fic" for RNM, in the 2020 Fandom Trumps Hate auction, which actually closed just prior to S2 beginning to air last March! At the time, neither of us had any idea what that would even look like, lol. It was an incredible leap of faith and I thank you for your winning bid and your trust <3.
> 
> I'm finishing up writing the final chapter and a bit; however, after discussing it with Mander, we agreed that I'd begin posting. My intention is to post on Mondays and Thursdays.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who expressed interest in the teaser snippets I posted on Tumblr, and thank you Mander for being the winning bidder! Hope you enjoy.  
> ~ Tas

"Michael!"

He sighed and turned around, waiting for Isobel. "You aren't staying?"

"You're my ride," she snapped.

He spread his hands. "Iz, you do ten mile runs and you can kill with your bare hands. I figured you could get yourself home."

"True." He caught the fleeting smile and the pleased head tilt, before her mouth firmed. "But I want to know more about this 'not our time' bullshit. Hanging around long enough to hear the whole song wouldn't have meant you needed to march up onto the stage and drop to one knee or anything."

Michael rolled his eyes. Why did she keep making marriage references? Had she not yet figured out he wasn’t a good prospect? "Did you see Forrest?"

"The mermaid guy? I saw him. What's he got to do with anything?" she rattled off questions, then her eyes widened. "Oh, are they dating?"

Mermaid guy. Michael supposed it was accurate enough; the dyed streaks in Forrest's hair looked blue indoors and green outside. "I don't know. I don't know what they're doing, or even if they'll do anything. But Alex deserves the space to decide that for himself, without me fucking it up. And right now," he paused, pinching the bridge of his nose, "right now, I would definitely fuck it up."

"Because you’re with Maria?" she asked sympathetically.

His laugh was a twisted imitation of mirth. "Because I'm not with Maria. Because apparently, telling a woman you love her is a cue for her to dump your ass."

"Oh, Michael." Isobel tucked her hand around his elbow and began to lead him to the truck.

"What?" was all he said aloud. He knew his face said, 'Don't _Oh, Michael_ me', but Isobel didn't look at him and that was probably why.

"You levelled up, and that spooked her. Not in the cold feet sense," she waved her free hand to emphasise her point. "In the sense of, she realised she wasn't willing or able to follow you to that new level."

He stopped walking, turning to face Isobel with a frown. "But she said she loved me too."

Her voice was uncharacteristically gentle. "And then she said, 'But'."

"Yeah," he confirmed quietly. "She's committed to exploring her alien side and she doesn't want me in the way."

"I'd wondered. If that might end up being a problem. Because that day when I helped her achieve a vision, you said you two had talked about it, but when I started in with details it was obvious that she hadn't told you everything."

He looked skyward, sighing. "Then Sanders was Walt and Walt was Sanders, and _then_ all the steaming piles of Manes men manure happened. Yeah."

Her laugh lilted into his ears and Michael couldn't help but smile and follow her to the vehicle as she declared, "You are driving me home, and coming inside. I have a lovely bottle of añejo tequila and I don't want to drink alone."

"Does that come with food?" 

"Of course. In fact," Isobel pulled out her phone, "I can order pizza from the dubious comfort of your front seat."

"You know, you could still walk," he warned, shaking his head when she unleashed a big smile on him. Michael wouldn't kick her out of the truck and they both knew it. He sighed again through his own smile, and turned the ignition, listening to the old girl rumble into wakefulness.

Isobel placed her hand over his on the gear shift, preventing him from moving it. "And you're sure you don't want to stay," leaving it as not quite a question.

"Iz, he knew he was performing tonight. Forrest is here. His one decent brother is here. Some Air Force guys are here." His hand flexed under hers. "If Alex had wanted me here, he would have asked me. I happened to wander in and see a little bit. That doesn't mean I get to stay. It isn't about me."

"Michael, that song was literally about you," she scoffed.

He had to smile at the tone. "Maybe so. But the performance wasn't." Michael glanced at her. "Take it from someone who couldn't play music for ten years. The song and the performance are not the same thing."

She did that sideways nodding thing, one side and then the other, that meant she agreed with him mostly because she couldn't muster a further valid argument. "All right. But when the video goes up on the Pony's Instagram, you're watching it."

"Yeah," he acquiesced; easy when it matched his own thoughts. "I'll watch it."

"Okay then. Drive. What do you want on your pizza?"

*

Inside the Wild Pony, Alex let his shoulders relax, nosing at Forrest's cheek. He'd sung a song about a boy in public, and kissed another one, and contrary to the expectations of his stomach, the world had not ended.

"Still okay?" Forrest checked, and Alex smiled, nodding.

"Yeah. You need to finish your emcee duties, right?" He let his palms skim across to Forrest's arms and down, squeezing his hands before stepping back. "I should say goodnight to my brother. I'll come find you after?"

"Sounds good."

Alex stepped away and headed for Gregory's table, taking the seat he was waved towards. "Hey. What'd you think?" It made him nervous to ask outright, but he'd seen Gregory smile and applaud, so hopefully the answer wouldn't be too heinous.

"Are you kidding me? That was amazing! I'd forgotten how good your voice was. Well, and it's deeper now, too," he grinned.

"I should hope so, I was still a teenager the last time you heard me sing."

"Eleven years is a long time."

Alex pursed his lips. "It is, yeah." He watched his brother frown, gaze shifting to Alex's mouth.

"How's the cut?"

"Healing. Which it would probably do faster if I didn't keep poking at it," he admitted. "The forehead one's fine, but I'm constantly aware of the one on my lip because it doesn't move right."

"It's like when you get a paper cut right at the tip of your index finger and you keep hitting it on everything, because it's so hard to not use that finger," he complained.

"I can usually work around that when typing, but I don't have to write on a chalkboard," Alex smiled. "Honestly, Greg, some of me poking is also, me realising these are the last injuries Dad will ever inflict on me."

"Alex ---" he began, hoarse, subsiding when Alex shook his head.

"In a good way, or at least not a bad one. Kind of a, fuck you I made it, sorta feeling."

"Good, that's good."

"Yeah."

Silence stretched between them for a few minutes, until Gregory jolted like he'd remembered something and said, "Hey, I talked to Kyle earlier. There's been some brain swelling so they had to induce a medical coma. He said we could still visit, though, if you want to go see Flint tomorrow?"

Another coma. Would its aftermath be another rug lying insecure under his feet, ready to be yanked away? Maybe not; Flint may have drunk the Koolaid but he didn't have the manipulative finesse their father had had, nor the patience. "We could do that, yeah. Do you want me to pick you up at the house?"

"That'd be great, as long as you don't show up early and try to help me sort through shit," he said, eyebrows raising pointedly.

Alex sighed, rolling his eyes. "It really wouldn't be a big deal. I can handle it." Once the contents of the house had been dealt with, they intended to put it up for sale and split the profits four ways. Obviously Flint hadn't been able to agree to that plan, but Gregory had managed to get Clay on board after an international shouting match on Skype.

"No, you and Michael dismantling and disposing of that gross old shed was plenty, Alex," he spoke firmly, and Alex kept the secrets of the small outbuilding behind his teeth, unwilling to discuss it. But he didn't have to as Gregory continued, "Speaking of Michael, you saw him earlier, right?"

Dragging his mind back to the present, Alex nodded. "He was only here for a couple of verses."

"You didn't invite him to come tonight?"

"No. No, I," he pushed out a laugh. "You're not the only one who hasn't heard me sing recently, Greg. I mean, I haven't performed since high school. And I was nervous enough about singing and about the song itself, without...."

"Without its subject sitting right in front of you," Gregory finished, soft with comprehension. "I get it."

"Yeah," he sighed.

"You looked pleased to see him," he prompted.

Alex smiled. "I'd gotten past the stage fright and into the performance by then."

"Fair point, fair point. And it doesn't bother you that he didn't stay for the whole song?"

"What is with the third degree?" voice conveying his growing irritation.

Gregory held up his hand. "Relax. You don't have to answer if you don't want to. I just thought, where it was about him," he left it open.

"My... relationship, with Michael, if you can even call it that, might have inspired me to write the song, that's true. But I wasn't singing it for him. That was for me."

"Okay, good, yeah." He nodded slightly, almost to himself, and it seemed to Alex like Gregory was paying attention now to Alex's obvious desire to not discuss Michael. Or maybe just deciding to honour it. "So, uh, you're staying, right, with...?"

"Forrest," he supplied. "Yes."

"Are you dating?"

Alex shrugged. "I don't know what we're doing, yet. We went on a date a few weeks ago and it was kind of a disaster; the hospital called me about Dad in the middle, and then I freaked out, and he told me to call him when I wasn't hearing my father's voice anymore."

The sudden bright grin took Alex aback. "That's why you kissed him. No Dad in your head now?"

"More or less. There's still professional crap to deal with, being out of the same base and everything, but on the personal side," he allowed himself a smile, "it's pretty much just me in there. I've never been happier to be alone."

"Honestly, Alex, hearing that is even better than hearing your song."

He scoffed but his smile was bright, too. "It's good."

Gregory stared at him a moment longer, still grinning, then rose to his feet. "Well, have a good night with Forrest, and text me tomorrow to let me know what time you want to go to the hospital."

"I will," Alex promised, getting up to give him a quick hug. "Talk to you then."

As his brother left, Alex scanned the bar patrons, finding Forrest near the stage, deep in conversation with someone he didn't recognise. Probably asking about next week's open mic night. Rather than interrupt, Alex went to the bar and signalled to Max.

"Hey," Max nodded once, wiping his hands on a bar towel. The action reminded him of Michael; how many times had Alex watched him wipe grease from his hands? Not as many as he could have, which saddened him a little, but this was neither the time nor the place for those thoughts. He tuned back in to catch Max asking, "Same as the last one?"

"Please, yeah. And one for Forrest, too, please." He watched Max pour the liquor as generously as Maria would have, idly wondering if that was typical for Max or if it was a sign of guilt. The thing was, Alex couldn't find it in himself to be angry. Liz had been upset about Flint, and furious about the lab, and had dealt with both by leaving Max and Roswell in her rearview mirror.

But Liz had never been in a war zone. She had a civilian's limited understanding of armed conflict, a luxury Alex had not been afforded in years. For her, dropping the gun meant the conflict was over. With the atomiser deployed, though, its precise location unknown, and its contents primed to kill Michael, Isobel, and Max, and possibly Maria and Rosa too, Alex couldn't say his threat assessment of the situation would have been zero, either. Aloud, he said quietly, "I don't blame you, you know."

Max set the glasses in front of him, quirking an eyebrow. "You're the only one."

"Greg doesn't, either." One of the many topics they'd covered over the past few days. He watched Max absorb the information, finding it unexpectedly easy to read him. They'd been friends, once. Never close, but they had been friends.

"Thanks." A little lighter, maybe, or that could be wishful thinking on Alex's part. Another patron signalled and Max gave him an apologetic smile, which Alex countered by raising his glass in thanks before Max moved to serve the others.

Drinks in hand, he located Forrest en route and jerked his head towards the table they'd previously occupied, empty and waiting for them. Alex beat him there by a hair.

"Bad leg and both hands full, and you're still faster than me," Forrest laughed, accepting the drink.

"I can still move," he smirked.

"I bet," shading towards suggestive as Forrest tilted his head forward slightly, looking up at him through his eyelashes. Alex returned the frank look, feeling a gentle simmer of heat in his middle amidst the wash of relief that yes, he could flirt, even if it was a little stilted yet.

He cleared his throat, enjoying Forrest's smile. "Um, so what did that guy want?"

"John? Oh, he wanted to know about the keyboard setup - if it was yours, that kind of stuff," he switched gears easily. "He'd gotten the idea somewhere that it was a poetry only thing so he was pretty excited that music is welcome, too, and that the instruments belong to the Pony so he wouldn't need to bring his own. So you might have competition next week."

"Next week?" Alex asked, reining in the way his voice wanted to squeak. "I don't - I don't know if I ---"

"No pressure," Forrest assured. "You were fantastic tonight. John asked me to tell you it was a great song, and it seriously was, Alex." He reached over and Alex watched his hand disappear under Forrest's. "I'd love for you to keep performing, you know? It doesn't have to be so personal, I mean, you could sing _Hey Jude_ and people would love it."

He couldn't help but laugh. "Yeah, I guess that's true. I hadn't thought past tonight, if I'm honest; I wanted to see if I could do this first."

"Totally valid," he nodded. "You did it, and it was awesome. You’re awesome."

Alex rolled his eyes, but he was smiling as he asked a question about the poem Forrest had been working on when they'd met up a couple of days ago to plan for this performance. The conversation went from there, feeling easy, songs and poems and stories, words strung together in a multitude of ways pleasing to heart and ear, and time slipped away unnoticed until the strident yell of last call broke the spell.

"I'll walk you to your car," Forrest offered, and Alex let him, pausing at the driver's door to turn and pull Forrest close.

This kiss wasn't soft and almost chaste like the one for the audience had been. No, this kiss was filthy, Forrest's mouth covering his, tongue pressing inside to stroke and play as Alex gripped Forrest's shoulders, feeling the car behind him and the man in front.

When a moan finally escaped Alex's throat, he felt the kiss draw to a close, lips clinging to his even as Forrest moved his head back. Alex was about to suggest a change of venue when Forrest smiled and said, "Thanks for a great night. I'll text you the link when the video's up; should be within a few days."

"Um," was all he got out, seeing Forrest's smile widen. "Yeah, um, we could maybe have lunch when it's up?"

"I'd like that. We'll talk soon." He pressed another kiss to Alex's mouth, brief and soft, and then he left.

Alex watched him go, while his fingers rose to flutter against the puffy surface of his lips. The cut was fine, hadn't broken open, but now Alex was a head-to-toe throb of arousal, and all he could do was laugh, get in his car, and go home.

If Forrest wanted to take his time, so be it. Alex could hardly blame him after the way their first date had gone. But tonight, he was left feeling hopeful, already anticipating more of those kisses.

It might look like the main road to his house, but Alex was definitely driving in the optimist lane tonight.

[end chapter one]


	2. Release Mechanisms

Alex glanced up from his phone as Kyle slid into the booth opposite him and placed his hands on the table, leaning towards Alex. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you what?"

"That you were singing the other night!"

Oh, that. He sighed. "Should I have mentioned it before or after you turned down free booze because you hate open mic night so much?"

Kyle had the grace to look chagrined. "You've got me there."

He smiled. "It's okay, Kyle, I know it isn't for everyone. And I didn't tell anyone I was performing. Max saw it because he was working, and Michael caught a bit at random. Isobel might have been with him?" Alex wasn't sure and he shrugged. "I was trying to pay attention to the keyboard."

"Right, yeah, it was Guerin who showed me the video. He was watching it when I dropped over there."

Alex gave him a quizzical look. "Are you and Michael friends now or something?" He vividly remembered the snark and the sniping when they'd driven to Caulfield. Comparatively speaking, it was now the one good memory from that day.

"Kind of?" Kyle wrinkled his nose, expression confused. "We've spent a lot of time cooped up in the lab together, with and without Liz as a buffer, so we get along pretty well these days. Not drinking buddies or anything, but he doesn't seem to hate me anymore."

Quietly, Alex added, "I don't either, you know. Hate you."

"Yeah?" His face smoothed into a big smile when Alex nodded. "That's good to know."

"So now you know." It was a little uncomfortable, how Kyle beamed at the admission, but it was the truth. Alex kind of felt like his ability to hold a grudge had died with his father. He'd told Maria a few months back that he and Kyle weren't friends, but even then, they'd been working towards it, with or without Alex acknowledging it. By this time, with everything that had happened, Alex was tired of keeping everyone at arm's length. "How's Steph doing?"

"Really good, yeah. And where her condition was so rare, nobody's looking the gift horse of her remission in the mouth."

"That's great, Kyle, on both counts."

"Anyway so about your song. The lyrics are about Guerin, right?" he asked quietly, but the question still had Alex glancing over his shoulder to check that Forrest hadn't suddenly appeared like this was some sitcom.

"Do you mind?" he hissed. "Or did you not notice that I'm not here alone?" Alex gestured at the table contents and the clear detritus of two diners.

Kyle winced. "Allow me to remove my other foot from my mouth."

Alex huffed a laugh despite his annoyance. "Fine, you do that. Forrest just stepped outside to take a phone call."

"And I'm guessing that's him coming back now." Kyle stood up, moving aside so Forrest could have his seat back.

Alex gestured between the two men. "Forrest Long, meet Kyle Valenti; Kyle, this is Forrest."

They shook hands and Forrest commented dryly, "On behalf of the Long family, I apologise if my cousin Wyatt has been a jerk to you."

It pleased Alex when Kyle grinned. "Not lately he hasn't, but I appreciate the thought. Did you move here recently?"

"Oh, I spent most summers on my uncle's farm, but I didn't grow up in Roswell," Forrest explained with an easy smile. "I'm here now because I'm a historian and I'm writing a book on the Nazi camps in the area."

"Like the Iron Crosses and that? It sounds interesting."

Alex smiled when Forrest glanced at him and said, "I'd be happy to chat with you about it another time. Alex has already heard all about it and I'm here to spend time with him, so."

"Totally fair. And, it's my turn to apologise, because I need to borrow Alex for a few minutes," Kyle kept it friendly. "I'm part of the medical team caring for his brother."

"Sorry, I keep forgetting the Doctor in front of your name," Alex chuckled, getting to his feet. He squeezed Forrest's arm. "I won't be long."

"Hey, it's okay, I know you're worried about Flint. You still want coffee? I can go ahead and order."

"That'd be great, thanks."

Alex followed Kyle into the back of the restaurant - technically off-limits to customers, but neither of them had ever been just customers. Once they were by the stairs where they had some privacy, Kyle leaned against the wall, regarding Alex. "He seems nice."

"He is nice."

"A Long, though?" he asked, clearly teasing.

"I'm a Manes," Alex shrugged.

"You have a point," Kyle sighed. "Which brings us to Flint, or rather, Flint's charts. I think someone is fudging some things. I haven't got a handle on what yet, but I took photos of every page this morning so I can compare. And I can't actually say what's already been changed, or be certain something has, it's just, it's a feeling," he concluded, visibly frustrated.

"Well, we do know Project Shepherd has some hospital personnel in their pocket. Putting aside the non-existent Dr. Holden, there was definitely at least one person complicit in my father's faking the aftereffects of his stroke." Frustrated didn't begin to describe how Alex felt about that.

"You said they called you, right? Something about mixing alcohol and medication?"

"Yeah. The same medication he left in the bunker. It was a normal pharmacy issue bottle of pills, so someone obviously prescribed them." He sighed. "Maybe, could you look at his medical records? That might help identify if there's been tampering with Flint's?"

Kyle chewed on his lower lip. "You're positive your dad's records were falsified?"

"Yes," Alex bit out. "Someone gave him pills he didn't need and helped him create the illusion of reduced function and mobility. It's probably the same person with Flint. We need to know who it is."

"All right. I'll take a look, see what I can find out." He pointed at Alex with his chin. "You okay?"

The noise that emerged from his throat sounded as ambivalent as he felt. "Angry with myself, mostly. I let my, my hope that he could be an actual human being, and my identification with what it's like when your body won't obey you anymore, lull me into believing the bullshit. He even said at Crash Con that he'd counted on it - said I'd never known friend from foe." That lapse had nearly cost lives. He'd been arrogant about his ability to protect Michael and the others, and in the end, only the fact that his father had been even more arrogant had prevented complete disaster.

"Mm," Kyle shook his head, eyes narrowed. "Speaking as someone who's been both friend and foe at various points in our lives, I'd have to disagree on you not knowing the difference."

"I guess," he conceded grudgingly.

"Last week you were convinced you could keep Flint from turning into Jesse 2.0."

"It fluctuates daily. Sometimes hourly. I have to keep reminding myself that he's dead."

Kyle nodded. "How's Greg doing?"

"Surprisingly good, yeah." Spending time with him was a bright spot. "I think the shooting exorcised more demons than it created for him."

"Getting on with the house?"

"So he tells me. Won't let me help. I'm just glad I was able to get rid of the shed and its contents," Alex raised his eyebrows meaningfully, "without anyone besides me and Michael being any wiser."

"Yeah," he agreed emphatically. "Speaking of Michael..."

"Your segues need work."

"Maybe," Kyle allowed. "But it was about him. The song."

Alex spread his hands. "So what if it was?"

"You know he and Maria broke up?"

"Yeah. And?"

"Well, but," he stumbled, evidently not expecting either answer, "you still feel that way. I know you do."

"Again, so what?" A hint of anger crept into his voice. "Expecting me to wait around with my legs open in case he decides he wants me now?" Inwardly he cringed, recognising that had been what he'd expected of Michael during those brief visits home between deployments, even if he hadn't realised it at the time. No wonder Michael had finally said enough.

"Of course not," Kyle grimaced. "I just think, with so much there, it seems like it'd be worth trying? Like, really trying, not the ships in the night stuff."

Pursing his lips, Alex nodded sharply. "Okay. I'm going to say this once, and then I expect you to never bring it up again. Whatever is between Michael and I, whatever 'really trying' might look like; these are not things I'm prepared to have in my life right now. I have too much going on already. There is... there's too much, and that's that."

"Okay," he held up both hands in surrender. "I won't ask again."

"Thank you." He was about to continue when Kyle smiled at someone behind him, so Alex turned around, also smiling reflexively at Liz's dad. "Hi, Mr. Ortecho. We needed a bit of privacy; I hope you don't mind."

"Of course not, mijo. You boys have spent enough time here over the years! I heard about your father, I am sorry."

"I'm not," Alex declared, surprising himself. He could see Arturo was taken aback, and added, "Thank you, but, the world is a better place without him in it."

"His uncle was a nice man. Tipped extra because he wanted me to buy the diner. I think Jesse lost his way after he died. Stopped coming in here, got caught up in his father's politics. It happens," he gave a small shrug, as if he thought the loss were still worth mourning but the choice belonged to Alex.

Who nodded politely and surface agreed, "Yeah."

"Did you need us for something, Mr. Ortecho?" Kyle enquired, smoothing over the interaction. "We'd be happy to help."

"No, no, I just saw you boys come back here and wanted to make sure everything is all right," he smiled.

"We're good, honest," Alex confirmed, sincere now.

"All right, well, you," he pointed at Kyle, "I know all about your arrangements for free fries, so you come with me and you can have them to go. And you," his outstretched finger shifted towards Alex, "you're sitting with the Long cousin, yes? Have you had dessert yet?"

"No, we, uh," Alex stumbled over himself, then figured he might as well say it. His father couldn't punish him anymore. "We're on a date."

He didn't expect the way Arturo lit up. "Then you go sit down, and I will bring you a special dessert for two, hm?" Alex found himself being ushered back into the restaurant proper, unable to prevent his own smile at the way Arturo beamed while he and Kyle disappeared as Alex went to sit down.

"What was that about?" Forrest asked, one eyebrow and one corner of his mouth lifted.

"Um, he is, very excited that I'm on a date with you, and he's bringing us dessert of some kind. I don't know what," Alex confessed.

"Oh, I see," he chuckled, and reached halfway across the table, casually leaving his hand open, leaving the decision to Alex.

Butterflies swirled in Alex's stomach but it was a light, pleasant enough hit of nerves, and he met Forrest's eyes as he placed his palm over the one offered to him, watching Forrest's smile widen as Alex closed his fingers around Forrest's hand and held on.

It felt good, not having to hide.

*

"I'm just saying, I'm usually the one doing something other people consider reckless, is all."

"Believe me, Michael, you have both done your share of stupid shit over the years," Isobel emphasised her point with a sideways hand motion.

Her sharp tone made him grin, "Yeah, but you put up with us anyway."

"Obviously," she sniffed. "Anyway, all I got out of him was part two of the admission that he has been taking Liz's serum - the good one."

"Part two?"

"Yes," her sigh gusted forth in irritated confirmation. "Max told me before that he'd taken all the serum that Liz had originally given him to help with his memory, without doling it out in small doses like he was supposed to." Her fingernails tapped on the hard plastic of the window frame, and Michael refrained from rolling his eyes at the small huff Isobel let out at the lack of anywhere else to put her hand in his old Chevy. He didn't have fancy armrests like in her SUV.

"Okay, so by part two, then, you mean he got his hands on more?"

"Whatever was left in the lab before he torched it."

That, Michael was still annoyed about. He understood why Max had done it, the practical and the hidden reasons both; he knew how terrified Max was of ending up in captivity. Had always known, or near enough to always, and the fragments of memory Max had recovered and shared with him and Isobel, of a small child chained to the floor, lent significant weight to that fear. Max's terror was rooted in truth.

That didn't make it fun that Kyle had nearly gotten fired and stripped of his licence, or that the only reason Alex wasn't in similar professional trouble was that the site and equipment appropriation had been swept into the cover-up of Jesse Manes's death. And while he wasn't upset the way Liz had been, in part because he'd also asked her to pack it in and pack it up, Michael did regret the loss of some of the materials and records that had been destroyed in the fire.

Fortunately, Michael's memory for chemical formulas was very, very good.

He sighed. "So we're driving out to the middle of nowhere because he's taken the rest of the damn serum and remembered something."

"I think so, yes." Isobel didn't sound any happier about it.

They had a choice, though, in how they approached Max, and once he pulled up by the old Jeep and exited the truck, Michael made that choice.

"Sorry, I know I should have called you earlier," Max started, and Michael shook his head.

"Save it. We are sick of being pissed at you for being so obnoxiously yourself. Why do you look so scared?"

"Well, when-when I touched the alien console at the fair, something happened; I heard whispers, that I couldn't understand, until now?" The intonation rose at the end, but Michael knew it wasn't truly a question. His stomach lurched as Max continued, "I think when I, when I touched it, I unlocked something."

"Like what?" Isobel demanded.

Max fidgeted. "Like a cage? The whispers led me here." He waved at the land around them. "I know it sounds crazy, but would you guys help me find a tunnel? It's - I know it's somewhere in this, this quadrant or whatever. This way out of town."

Isobel stared at him. "Max, that's absurd. There's miles and miles of desert to potentially search. Acres of it, in fact."

"I know," he offered an apologetic smile. "I know, Iz. But, will you help me?"

Michael dragged a hand down his face. This was going to suck so much. "Please tell me you were your usual Boy Scout self and you brought enough bottled water for all of us."

"Of course." Max bounced on his toes a little and Michael shook his head, a smile beginning despite himself.

"GPS? Some way to get back to the vehicles?"

"Yes."

"Alright," he sighed, gesturing towards the open ground, "let's do this."

"Michael, surely you're not serious," Isobel grimaced.

"Yeah. If we did unlock something with the console, we need to find it and deal with it, Iz. It's not like we can use the console to put it back."

"Fine, yes, you're right," she agreed, clearly displeased. "But I'm not doing this for more than an hour or so at a time - and neither are you," she told Max sternly. "We come out here as a group only, we search for the allotted time, and we go home. No side trips and no solo excursions. Deal?"

Michael exchanged looks with Max; it was almost like being a kid again, with Isobel ordering everyone around. He agreed with her conditions, more or less, and while Max was obviously more reluctant, he nodded along as Michael confirmed, "Deal."

"Excellent," she gave them a wide smile. "Get the water and the toys, and let's get going, then."

[end chapter two]


	3. Gravitational Constant

Michael drained the last of his water while he stood at Alex's front door. Now that he was here, he was second-guessing the wisdom of it, but he couldn't show up and then choose to leave with no one the wiser; Alex had cameras fucking everywhere. So he raised his hand, pressed the doorbell, and waited.

By the time the door swung open, he was fidgeting and contemplating bolting anyway. He summoned a smile instead, greeting Alex, "Hey."

"Hey, Guerin." A dust cloud seemed to float around Michael's form, and Alex noted the empty bottle and the air of fatigue. "What'd you do, roll around in the desert?"

"What? Oh." Alex watched him glance down at himself and frown as if he were only now noticing. "Uh, I could use the garden hose first?"

"Don't be ridiculous," he rejected the suggestion. Michael wasn't a dog, to be hosed off before being allowed in the house. "Just leave your boots by the door." Moving aside, he shut the door behind Michael, waiting for him to comply before leading him down the hallway.

Michael stopped at the edge of the area rug in the living room, uncomfortably aware of the pristine condition of Alex's upholstered furniture, and flexed his toes inside his socks, feeling the fabric slip against the wood floor. He should probably go.

Alex frowned, watching him. Something was definitely going on. Dusty, quiet; maybe Michael was dehydrated. "You can drag over the leather desk chair, if that's more comfortable for you. Or you're welcome to take a shower."

"Uh," Michael started, shaking his head. He didn't want to shower here. Naked in Alex's house didn't seem like a good idea; he didn't belong here, not that way. "I'll grab the chair, thanks."

"Well, give me your bottle first, and I'll get you a refill."

Wordlessly Michael handed it over and watched Alex disappear down a different hallway, then he wheeled the desk chair to the edge of the rug and dropped into it with a sigh. He appreciated how Alex had offered practical solutions without making him feel stupid for worrying about messing up Alex's space.

In the kitchen, Alex tossed the empty in the recycling bin and grabbed two cold bottles from the fridge, one water and the other Lucozade. He also got a power bar from the cupboard and put all three items in a small, high-sided tray he then clipped onto one crutch. As usual, Michael hadn't offered to help, for which Alex was intensely grateful. Other people tended to follow him and take their own drinks back to sit. Which wasn't a problem, exactly, except for the underlying assumption that Alex wouldn't be capable of carrying everything.

And with both hands on his crutches, he couldn't carry much by hand, that was true; but he had other means at his disposal. Pockets, for one, and this little tray for another. Michael wouldn't blink at whatever method Alex chose to use. He seemed to take whatever Alex said he would do at face value and assume Alex could do it. It was rare, and such a relief to feel like Michael saw him as competent that Alex didn't get self-conscious about using aids around him.

Forrest did that, too, but he was ex-military, and he'd never known Alex with two feet - he accepted the man Alex was now without really knowing much about who he used to be. It was different with Michael.

Upon returning to find Michael in the desk chair, Alex balanced himself carefully and hooked the end of one crutch behind the nearest leg of the coffee table, pulling it nearer to Michael. Then he deposited the tray on the table and handed the Lucozade to Michael directly.

"What's all this?" Michael wanted to know, glancing at the vibrantly coloured drink in his hand as Alex finally took a seat, appearing relaxed enough.

"Seems like you might be a bit dehydrated. Drink up." Michael grimaced. "If you don't like it, chug it. I know you can do that."

Michael laughed, the teasing tone breaking through the sense of wrongness that had persisted since his arrival here. He tilted the bottle towards Alex in acknowledgement then cracked it open, guzzling half of it down before he switched to the water to clear out the taste, reaching for the power bar next. Only once he'd taken a bite did he notice Alex's self-satisfied expression. "What?" he asked around the mouthful.

He shrugged. "I enjoy being right."

Rolling his eyes, Michael finished chewing and drank a little more water, then capped it and put it back on the table. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Alex smiled. "So, what did bring you here, since it obviously wasn't Clif bars or electrolytes?"

Michael's answering smirk came easily now, but it dimmed as he started talking. "It's about Max, kind of. You remember the antidote Liz made to counteract the serum, right? And how that's what made Isobel start to remember what had happened with Rosa?"

"Yeah," he frowned. "Wasn't she dosing Max after the surgery, too?"

"She was. And he remembered some stuff from before the pods, so he took a lot more of it than he was supposed to and he's got some, I don't know what to call it besides language fragments?" Michael exhaled, frustrated at the lack of precision. "He can sort of understand some of the symbols."

"What, the gold text on the console glass?" Alex felt the bite of guilt as soon as he spoke the words and he met Michael's eyes, regretful awareness swirling around them both. "Michael, I ---"

"Don't," he gave a sharp headshake. "What's done is done, alright?"

"I know. That doesn't mean I can't ---"

"Yes. It does. It does mean that, Alex." Michael pinched the bridge of his nose, willing the flare of anger down. He hadn't come here to fight. "Look, you took that piece and then you got bonked over the head and chained up. Bait that Flint knew I would take. And if the price of your father's death is a dead console, so be it." It hurt, not having been able to spend time with the device his mother had built; Michael had wanted to run his hands over its vivid surface, knowing hers had shaped it. But there hadn't been time, and Max's brief touch had brought as yet unknown danger, anyway.

"Okay," he capitulated. "Okay. If you don't want an apology, I won't force one on you."

"Thank you."

"You were right, though. I told you that when you found me," his smile was brief; grateful at the memory, despite the way Michael had left him in that room. Alex understood the impulse to protect. "You were right and I was wrong, Guerin. To take the piece from you."

It wasn't an apology but an admission of wrongdoing, and that, Michael would accept. "I appreciate that. I know it's hard for you to admit." Picking up the power bar, he pointed it at Alex, "This is your comfort zone," and took a big bite.

The move gleaned a laugh from Alex and Michael grinned with his lips closed, watching Alex roll his eyes, relax his shoulders a little bit. "You were saying, Max is remembering and understanding some alien stuff."

Michael nodded as he finished chewing and swallowing. "Yeah. He heard something like whispers when he touched the console, and a few more doses later, figured out they'd been telling him he unlocked some kind of cage. Somewhere in that area of desert," he pointed vaguely, "which is basically the opposite direction to our pods. But it wasn't more precise than that."

"And you don't know what was in the cage," Alex stated the obvious, then sighed. "That's why you're dusty, from searching for this opened cage and whatever got out."

"Yep," he popped the final consonant. "Izzy was keeping us to a couple hours at one go, but she begged off today so the two of us were out there a long time." He took another bite of the bar. "I probably should have eaten a while ago."

"You didn't get hungry?"

Michael glanced at him, noting mild concern, nothing else. He shrugged. "I don't have reliable hunger signals."

"Huh. Is that an alien thing?"

Still plain curiosity; Alex clearly didn't get it. Maybe he should. "You know how when you get really hungry, and it's all you can think about, and kind of feels like your stomach is trying to digest your spine?" At the nod, Michael continued, "What about after that?"

"After that?" Alex echoed. "It starts fading when I finally eat something."

"What about if you don't eat anything?"

"I don't think I've ever not..." he trailed off, staring at Michael - at the vulnerability in the hazel eyes trained on his. Michael wanted him to know this, was choosing to share something intensely personal. The least Alex could do was listen. Gently, he prompted, "What happens then?"

"After a while it fades to like a dull ache, maybe with a little lightheadedness. Easy enough to ignore. Harder if there's also nausea, but that doesn't happen often for me." Saying it aloud felt weird, like he was exposing something to daylight that resisted its disclosure. But Alex wasn't looking away. Just the opposite, in fact: Alex was paying close attention, his face awash with what Michael wanted to call empathy. It wasn't pity. Michael would have recognised pity. He cleared his throat. "Happens often enough, it fucks with your body's signalling permanently."

"It happened a lot?" his voice so, so soft.

He shrugged. "Food is not a priority for junkies or drunks. I think the fundies were the worst, though. I was living there when my powers started coming in and it took me a long time to get them under control. Lotta 'go to bed without supper' while they were trying to decide if I was acting out or possessed." One side of his mouth lifted in a grim smirk. "The eventual exorcism sucked beyond the telling of it, but it did make my social worker yank me and place me somewhere else."

"Guerin," his heart ached for a child long grown, "I never knew."

"Why would you? By the time we actually talked to each other outside of class, I was a couple months shy of ageing out of the system and you knew I was living in my truck." That was it as far as Michael was concerned. A warm, safe place to sleep had been plenty. The shattering of that safety was not - had never been - Alex's fault, and feeding Michael had certainly never been Alex's responsibility.

"Yeah," Alex nodded. That summer had been constant whiplash between what had been going on at home and the continued deterioration of Michael's behaviour. After the assault in the toolshed, Alex had felt like all of the above had been his fault, a weight he'd carried right up until last year and a sunny morning conversation in the junkyard, when the pieces Michael had provided had slotted into the information he'd acquired from hacking into Project Shepherd.

The new knowledge had lifted most of that huge weight, making room for thousands of tiny realisations of moments that looked very different under a clearer lens. Food seemed to be another one he'd missed at the time.

"You, um, hm," Alex stalled out, then cleared his throat and tried again, "you said once that you usually ate at the ranch when you were working there." Mentioning conversations that had occurred during Alex's handful of visits in between deployments felt less risky than usual, where Michael seemed to be trying to secure his comprehension of this facet of his life. He didn't have the sense that Michael was baiting him into picking a fight. Alex had wondered - worried, really; would he miss that? It came with heartache and destruction, yes, but there was also a charge of electricity when they clashed, and he'd been concerned that just talking to each other like normal people would bore one or both of them. But it felt good, Michael trusting him with these things, and Alex was anything but bored.

It sounded like a question, so Michael answered it. "Yeah, Mr. Foster had a particular way of doing things. It meant less cash in hand for the job, but we got breakfast and lunch at the house on working days. He didn't want anyone cutting corners," the way Michael probably would have, at least in the beginning, before he'd understood the toll the work would take on his body. In the end, regular meals and a boss he liked were a big part of why he'd continued working there. Well, until the Air Force had evicted him. "Now I need to remind myself again." And, again, occasionally go without, when he couldn't scrape together enough money. That was thankfully infrequent now that he'd built up a little goods-for-services network in town.

Alex wanted to ask if Michael had gaps now, days when he didn't eat because he didn't have anything rather than because he'd forgotten. He held his tongue, though, recognising the swell of guilt behind the question, the urge in himself to assuage it with an answer he wanted to hear. They'd argued before about where the line was between Alex wanting to help and Michael not wanting charity, with no real conclusion beyond Michael's refusal of that help. Alex could admit to himself that while he would never have considered it charity or something done out of pity, he hadn't exactly had altruistic motivations, either. And here, Michael was being open with him; Alex didn't want to say something that would bring down steel barriers in those beautiful eyes. Not when they were doing so well.

Instead, Alex asked, "Do you set alarms on your phone? I got into the habit so I didn't forget my medication and it's been useful."

Michael blinked, surprised. He'd half expected Alex to... he wasn't even sure what, but he'd braced for a reaction that never came. "I don't, never thought about doing that. But it might be worth a try. I do actually keep my phone on my person after years of Isobel nagging me about it."

He watched Alex laugh, and it felt easy. Until a few weeks ago, it would not have occurred to Michael that he could have something like this with Alex. But when Isobel had dashed off after Sanders had told them about their mothers, Michael had needed to keep talking about it, and Alex had shown up and listened. It was part of what had driven him here today, when the topic was one he couldn't discuss with either sibling because they were involved. He didn't know that he needed advice, even, so much as he needed it out of his head.

"She does like to get her own way."

Michael snorted. "I guess it takes one to know one."

Alex didn't bother protesting, only rolled his eyes. "I'd ask you to stay and eliminate the need for a reminder tonight, but I have plans with Forrest. I'm all yours for another hour or so, though." He'd debated mentioning who with, but part of what Alex was trying to do was stop hiding. Everything. That meant not sidestepping questions or omitting details when the urge to do so was purely a comfort thing for himself.

"Ooooh, date night! Going well, I hope?" and he did hope that, truly; Alex deserved some happiness, especially after everything with his father the last few months.

"Yeah, it's nice. We have a good time." That seemed positive but generic enough. Those details, he didn't mind omitting - he didn't think anything good could come from discussing a new lover with Michael. There was not hiding, and then there was oversharing.

"Good. I'm glad."

It sounded completely sincere and Alex nodded. He hesitated, but eventually ventured, "I heard about Maria." He didn't know what else to say. _Was_ he sorry? He could barely pick apart his own feelings about his own relationships. But he had sympathy aplenty for both Michael and Maria, and however it had ended, Alex knew they were hurting.

Michael held up a hand, his throat closing momentarily as he choked down tears, vaguely exasperated that it was still this easy to set him off. A little hoarsely, "Not up for talking about that yet. I need more processing time, as Liz would say."

The answer took Alex aback, surprise pushing him past the softer reaction. "Liz says that?"

"Yeah, all the fucking time in the lab, whenever the conversation turned to actual people instead of pure science. Why the surprise?"

"No, it's just... I used to say that to Liz and Maria. Like, all through high school." Strange to hear it again, especially in this context.

"I guess it stuck." Michael watched the faint flicker of emotion across his face, curious now.

"I guess it did."

"Is it still true?" he surprised himself by asking.

"Um, yeah," Alex admitted with a sigh. "Yeah, if it moves away from logic and that, then, yeah. I still need processing time."

Giving him a rueful smile, Michael nodded, "I never really gave you much of that."

"No," he agreed, startled into a laugh. "No, you didn't, Guerin. You're more of an instant-on person." Michael threw back his head and laughed at that pronouncement, and after a minute, Alex joined him. It felt good, easy in a way that Alex wasn't used to feeling with Michael except in bed.

"Alright, well, I'm trained to that phrase now, so if you need to use it, I won't take it personally."

"Thank you," Alex told him. "You and Liz really connected, huh?"

He shrugged. "Liz is... she's family, Alex. I mean, she's currently disembarked from the crazy alien train, but she isn't ever going to not be involved in some way, and Max, he's gonna love her until the day he dies and stays dead, so." He shrugged again, uncertain how else to express it without delving into things that did not belong at this time and place. "I don't know, she gets me. She sees me, not," he gestured to his dusty cowboy attire, "not the trappings that everyone else seems to believe."

Alex simply nodded. The comment hit close to home; he'd been guilty of not looking past the surface with Michael, more than once. Discovering his library habits had been one of many eye-openers and he was still learning. But he wasn't going to say any of that aloud.

"Anyway, speaking of lab time with Liz, this is what I'm thinking about that antidote she created," Michael changed the subject, relieved when Alex let him, and they fell back into a discussion of the worries that had pulled him to this house today in the first place.

It was good, having someone he trusted who he could talk to.

[end chapter three]


	4. Object at Rest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for explicit sexual content; the pairing is obvious within the first paragraph. 
> 
> You can, of course, choose to skip it, but you will miss some important thoughts and conversation that occur within this sexual context. I don't currently have the brain to pick apart the nuances of what I wrote to provide an end note summary, so either read it or don't, as you like. I will simply refer you back to the tagged relationships as they are all explored in this fic.  
> ~ Tas

A few hours later, Alex was on the other side of his own front door, back pressed against the wood as Forrest kissed him.

"Are you gonna let me inside?" he murmured against Alex's mouth, and Alex laughed.

"We still talking about the house?"

"Maybe," Forrest chuckled. He waggled his eyebrows. "Or, I mean, I could drop to my knees here..."

"Ha ha." The notion didn't induce panic, like it would have before, but neither did it induce lust. "I'm out, not an exhibitionist."

"Then I do mean the house."

Alex rolled his eyes and pushed on Forrest's chest. "Move, so I can open the door and turn off the alarm." He wet his lips as Forrest did as he was asked, backing up with his eyes locked on Alex's. Heat simmered low in his belly and he kept the eye contact as he fished out his keys, breaking it only when he was ready to go inside.

With the alarm set to 'home' and shoes and jackets off, Alex led Forrest to the bedroom, pulling him in for another kiss once there. "Need anything?"

"Just you."

It was a terrible cliché but Alex was a sucker for that and knew it. He took the comment at face value and brought Forrest's hands to his buttons, letting him undo Alex's shirt and push it off his shoulders.

After that, they stripped quickly, Alex sitting nude on the edge of the bed to remove his prosthesis. It had been easier than he'd expected, the first time they'd had sex; his wasn't the first amputated limb Forrest had seen. Their shared experience of serving, albeit in different branches of the military, gave them common ground to work from, and a shorthand for certain things.

It was analogous to how Alex could talk to his friends who'd also grown up here, who knew what Roswell was like in their bones the same way Alex did. And while that particular context wasn't one Forrest shared, Alex was nonetheless grateful for where they did overlap.

Supplies in hand, Alex stretched out and rolled, stopping pressed tight against Forrest in the bed.

"Nice move," Forrest complimented, and they both laughed.

"I'm nothing if not efficient."

More kisses quieted their words, though not their voices, soft moans drifting through the cool air of the bedroom, soft hands drifting over warm skin, until Alex wanted more and shifted away enough to turn onto his stomach.

"This how you want it?" Forrest checked, making Alex smile.

"Uh-huh." His smile softened as Forrest slid closer, cuddling up to his side and slicking his fingers. The cool slip against his hole had him sighing, the sound transforming to a quiet laugh at Forrest's appreciative noise.

"You're so responsive. I love it."

"Me, too," Alex quipped, and they were kissing again, the angle a little awkward until Alex slung his leg over Forrest's and tilted towards him, weight shifting to the opposite side. "That's better."

"I'll say," teeth flashing in the lamplight.

Alex let himself sink into it, cataloguing the sensations without allowing any judgements on them. The firm lips moving against his, wriggle of tongue in his mouth, tasting faintly of the after dinner coffee they'd both had. The flex of muscle beneath his inner thigh, and the occasional brush and twitch of Forrest's erection against his stomach as one or both of them shifted. The wet glide of Forrest working him open, body accepting the push and pull of fingers easily now, eagerly, pleasure building, and he murmured, "I want you."

"You feel ready," Forrest agreed, and to Alex it felt like that encompassed far more than a relaxed ring of muscle. It felt like an echo of the permission he'd given himself to do this, have this, _feel_ this with another man. Even if he wasn't Michael.

Or maybe because Forrest wasn't Michael. Because it meant that Alex wasn't broken, not in that way, anyway. He was gay, same as he'd always been, same as he'd made his complicated peace with over and over again. And whatever else was going on, it felt good to know that his body could enjoy this, could inspire this in someone who didn't share some kind of cosmic connection with him, but who appreciated him physically as just a man.

His thoughts scattered as Forrest pushed inside and Alex moaned, rising onto forearms and knees to get a better angle, an invitation to Forrest to really fuck him. He heard a pleased chuckle, and then Forrest grasped his hips with both hands and began to do exactly that, setting a quick, forceful rhythm that coaxed noise from each man, grunts and moans and whines that swirled around them encouragingly.

Alex braced on his left arm, freeing his right to reach down and stroke himself, keeping time with Forrest's thrusts, the twinned pleasure keeping his mind blank of anything but chasing it higher.

Forrest got there first, hips stuttering briefly as he groaned, the elongated sound bringing a sharp twist of desire that sent Alex tumbling after him. They breathed together in unexpected synchronicity for a little while, before Forrest sighed and began to pull out.

Alex tipped onto his side once Forrest was standing, offering him a smile as he dropped the condom in Alex's wastebasket, then passed Alex the box of wipes from his nightstand. "Thanks."

"Of course. I'm gonna grab a glass of water," Forrest pointed in the direction of the kitchen with his thumb.

"Sure, yeah, there's bottles in the fridge. Get me one too, please."

"You got it."

He watched, gaze admiring, as Forrest left the room, then used a couple of wipes to clean himself up. They landed on top of the condom, concealing it, and Alex had the urge to move everything around in the wastebasket to uncover it again. He didn't; zero point in flaunting it to the guy who'd put it there; but the impulse made him smile.

Leaving the box of wipes on the nightstand, clearly visible, had been a heated argument with his brain last year. He hadn't even been fucking anyone at the time. But he knew what it would look like and he'd had to push himself to do it. The truth was much less sexy: when Alex had nightmares, he woke up sweating, and felt too gross to try sleeping again afterwards without doing something about it. He used to just get up and shower, but that tended to wake him all the way up. One of his doctors had suggested baby wipes as a quick measure that didn't even require leaving the bed and Alex had found they worked for all but the worst nights - and he never went back to sleep after those, anyway.

But they were post-coitally useful too, and now the sight of the plastic box made him feel the same spark of defiant pride that had served him so well as a teenager. It was a feeling he wanted to hold onto.

Sitting against the headboard, Alex pulled the covers up with him, warding off the night air. He accepted the water from Forrest with a smile and downed a goodly portion as Forrest rounded the bed and slipped in on the far side. Alex slid down and over to meet him, capped bottle left on the nightstand, and let Forrest pull him close.

They lay together trading unhurried kisses, any urgency already spent. Alex felt comfortable here; wanted. There was no other shoe, no one waiting for him to trip up, no secret left to expose - not his secrets, anyway. The last time he'd felt like this, kissing for the fun of it, had been in the back of Michael's truck that summer. But those moments had been borrowed in a way Alex didn't need to worry about anymore, and realising it made him smile against Forrest's mouth.

"What?"

"Stray thought. I haven't just made out since before the Air Force. It's nice," Alex nudged his cheek with his nose. "I'm glad you're here."

"So am I," Forrest kissed the tip of his nose. "Your last visitor of the day, given it's nearly midnight!"

"Last visitor?" he queried, frowning.

"I don't mean anything by it; I noticed your desk chair by the couch is all. Looked like you ran out of seating space for a big group," he smiled. "And I'm not asking. None of my business."

"Oh, right, the chair. Guerin came by to ask me about something." Alex had forgotten he'd left the chair out of place. He'd been rushing a little bit. It had seemed to help Michael to have a sounding board, though, and it didn't hurt that his need to talk meant Alex was fully up to date on alien stuff.

"After work, I'm guessing. He said working with cars is hard on fabric, stains worse than mucking out stables but it's not quite as, uh, _fragrant_ ," Forrest chuckled.

Alex blinked in surprise. "I didn't know you two talked."

"Sure, whenever we're both in the library, since that day you guys came to the farm. Not about you, if that's what you're thinking," he reassured. "Horses and cars, mostly. Michael knows his way around both. He's slowed down on the research front, said he's working more, so I only see him maybe once a week now."

"Oh." It sounded so normal and rational when Forrest said it, as opposed to the unpleasant churn in his stomach. "I guess I didn't think about it, still going on, I mean. I thought he'd found what he was looking for." The newspaper photo of Nora and Walt that had led them to the Long farm in the first place.

Forrest laughed. "Michael, done asking questions? Maybe when he's dead. He's natural-born curious, same as me. Decent library buddy, though, wants to get on with his own research, so it's not like we spend hours gossiping or anything."

The stab of envy took Alex a minute to even identify, it was so foreign a feeling. Forrest was getting to know Michael in ways Alex didn't, that he had in fact been blind to until this year. It underscored the truth that they had never been friends, not really; each had known who the other was, at least the public persona version, and neither had dug any deeper until the day he'd found Michael with his guitar and the subsequent veiled conversation had surprised Alex into offering him a warm place to sleep.

And after that - all the years after that - they'd talked so little, Alex hadn't known Michael had regularly gone hungry until today, when he'd asked a thoughtless question and received a serious, complete answer.

"Hey, Alex, it doesn't have to be weird, yeah? Roswell is a small town, and we're all queer. I mean, even in the city, the queer population isn't so big that you don't get overlap."

Confused, Alex frowned, "I'm not following. Overlap?"

"Yeah. It's actually pretty common for your current to be friendly with your once and future."

"My what?" sharper than intended, and now Forrest was frowning.

"It's an Arthurian reference, The Once and Future King?" He bit his lip when Alex just stared at him. "Alex... please tell me _you_ know how you feel about Michael."

"Wh-why would you ask me that?"

Forrest searched his face then nodded slightly, seeming to come to a decision. "When I met you, when you and Michael showed up at the barn, I thought the two of you were a couple. Actually, when I came back with the lunchbox and the beers, I was kind of wondering if you guys were open, you know," he smiled and rolled his eyes. "But then I kept seeing Michael with that tall blonde woman, and someone mentioned he had a girlfriend, so I thought maybe it was unrequited and I'd misread Michael."

"Isobel," he interjected, almost on reflex. "She's not a blood relation, but, family."

"I figured, from her expression when I asked if she was his girlfriend," he chuckled.

"You've got company. I once asked if Guerin was with Max, her twin brother. The three of them are close." He could say that again, having witnessed the change in Michael's relationship with Max the past few months. Having seen the ink inscribed on his forearm, a match to the tattoo on Max's back, an acceptance of the permanence of the bond between them. Alex sometimes wondered if either Michael or himself would ever come to that kind of acceptance of what lay between them. He didn't know if it were possible.

"It's nice not being alone." That cheerful grin flashed briefly before settling into a soft, grave smile. "Anyway, I didn't notice on the night, but when I watched the video of your performance at the Pony, there's a section where someone in the audience catches your eye and you, you just... I mean, your whole body language changes for a few bars. I asked Wolf if he remembered who it was and he told me Michael."

Any tension that had been released was back now, with friends, as Alex tried to digest the information. But his body always had been a traitor when it came to Michael. "I haven't watched it but yes, I noticed Guerin arrive and depart. I hadn't invited him but I knew he might show up; he's a regular there. It still took me by surprise a little bit."

"It looked like a good surprise. And made me realise I'd seen you orient towards him any time I saw you together. Wolf said to ask the bartender about the two of you, so ---"

"You asked Maria?" he interrupted, wincing. How hard that must have been for her right after the breakup.

"No, no, it was the next day, she was still in the hospital. Wolf was showing me the raw footage before it got edited and uploaded. It was Tall, Dark, and Handsome, with the floppy hair."

"Max," Alex identified him. At least it hadn't been Maria.

"Isobel's Max?" At Alex's nod, Forrest huffed a laugh. "No wonder he could talk about Michael. He told me you two had been involved in high school and kind of on and off since then."

"I-I-I didn't realise Max knew that," he stuttered, old fear clenching his middle. He forced himself to relax; it didn't matter anymore if Max knew. Or anyone else. And maybe it was a good thing - maybe Michael could talk about him to Max the way he'd talked about Max earlier. "But, um, yes. That, that's correct." He blew out a breath. "I've never really said that out loud before. I always... I think of it as a high school thing still, I guess. The summer after graduation is the only time we were actually together, together, and we had to keep it secret because of my father."

"That's why you said it was a long time ago," he spoke like something had clicked for him.

Stricken by the implication, Alex protested, "I didn't mean - I wasn't leading you on, Forrest."

He smiled. "Never said you were. You didn't lie to me, Alex; I knew the situation before we started actually dating."

"But," that made no sense to Alex, his brows drawing together in confusion. "Why are you here?"

Blunter than he'd meant it to be, but Forrest laughed. "If you mean in the existential sense, I don't have an answer for you. If you mean why am I in your bed? Because we had a good time at dinner and you invited me back to your place."

"I know that part, I remember it, but I don't understand ---"

"Alex." Fingers pressed to Alex's mouth silenced him, then Forrest cupped his cheek. "I like you. You're smart, creative, incredibly sarcastic," his eyes widened dramatically, a chuckle escaping, "hot as fuck, and the sex is great. Why _wouldn't_ I be here? Whatever is between you and Michael emotionally, you're not together right now. He's been dating someone else, and you were a free agent."

"They broke up," Alex found himself saying, arrowing right for the part that wasn't about him.

"I didn't realise. What does that mean for you?"

"Nothing." That was the point of bringing it up when the compliments had skated close to being overwhelming; he was still learning how to handle that kind of personal praise. "Guerin and I are friends - getting to be friends, really, to know each other for real."

"That sounds healthy," he said gently, and Alex emitted a wet laugh.

"It might be the first time healthy's been applicable."

"That's good, though - that it's applicable now, I mean," Forrest clarified. "You're not the first queer pair I've known who kind of bounced off each other when it wasn't the right time in their lives, and found each other again later, you know? When they were both ready."

"It feels like a weird way to look at it," he admitted.

"Nah, you've just spent too much time hanging around straight people."

"That's fair, yeah. I guess most of my relationship metrics are still calibrated to Maria and Liz," and out of date, too. He hadn't been celibate while overseas but he hadn't actually dated anyone.

"Exactly. Whereas my buddy was in a situation something like our first date, where one of them was out and one wasn't. He didn't want to get involved then. But, ran into his boyfriend a few years later, and they were on the same page. It happens. People need time to fight their personal battles, like you said in your song."

"Yeah." Alex had skirted that idea in his music but hearing a real life example helped, and made him feel a little less like damaged goods. "I... it doesn't feel fair, with us both aware - fair to you, I mean."

Forrest surprised him with a soft kiss. "Confession time on my end, I guess. I knew about you and Michael, but it wouldn't have mattered if there'd been no Michael, Alex. I wasn't looking to put a ring on it. I won't be staying in Roswell once my book is done, and that'll be in a few months. I just wanted," he paused, skimming his hand down Alex's side, and it felt good, the same as it had before this conversation had begun. Alex met his eyes, sincere in the low light. "You. I wanted - _want_ \- you. Not forever. But I do like you."

"I like you, too." It seemed simple, almost too simple, to lean forward into another kiss, let it heat up naturally. The absence of guilt in it. But if Forrest only wanted now, Alex could give him that, and take solace and enjoyment in their time together without worrying it wouldn't be enough.

He'd been right: he could have this, for however long it lasted. Not forever and no regrets.

[end chapter four]


	5. Minimum Impulse

"Remind me again what we're doing here, Valenti."

"I need the lockpick in your brain."

"And what's with this get-up?" Michael waved at the scrubs and surgical cap he wore.

"Well, Guerin, the lock is in the records room, which is off-limits to non hospital personnel, and you are pretty distinctive in your own clothes."

"You think I'm distinctive?" he smirked, and Kyle rolled his eyes. "Alright, alright, I'm on board. Lead the way. I'll try to look official."

"Thank you."

Michael followed Kyle through the corridors, making a mental note of the route for potential escape needs. It was interesting, how invisible he suddenly seemed, trailing behind a man with a clipboard and a lab coat, both of them looking like they belonged. He stopped when Kyle did, waiting while Kyle swiped his security card, and then they were in the records room. "Where's the lock?"

"Over here, this tall cabinet." It was a heavy duty one, with a combination lock. More complicated than one which used a key but doable.

"Okay, gimme a minute." Michael moved in and concentrated, feeling out the tumbler mechanism with his mind, then took hold of the combination dial, turning it slowly. When the dial was at the correct number, he felt the first barrier in the lock release, and twisted the dial in the reverse direction to find the second number. When he had all three, there was an audible click and he pulled the top drawer open. "For future reference, it's 3-42-17."

"Great. Let me look at the files, please," he requested, even as he pushed into the space and began to do exactly that.

An electronic beep sounded and Michael recognised it immediately as the sound the card reader made. He shoved Kyle away, closing the drawer and spinning the combination dial to re-lock it, ignoring Kyle's sputtering. Instead, Michael went with the first idea he had as a cover story, backing against the nearest wall and dragging Kyle with him, pulling him in tight for a kiss.

He felt the way Kyle froze, but Michael didn't have time to worry about that right now, as the heavy door thudded closed. He'd seen Kyle's girlfriend and she was pretty curvy, so he focused on rounding out the upper chest of the top and the hips of the bottoms of the scrubs, scrunching down a little to make himself smaller.

The way Kyle squeaked was kind of cute, actually. Michael kept one hand in Kyle's hair, preventing him from completely freaking out and pulling away. The illusion wouldn't hold up if the person got a good look at Michael.

"Dr. V," a woman's voice scolded, and now Michael let Kyle end the kiss, the wet popping sound clear in the quiet room. Kyle met his eyes and nodded slightly, seeming to have figured out the ruse, and cleared his throat, remaining in place.

"Kate. Sorry, uh, could you give us a minute? Please."

Her exasperation rolled over them in waves. "I like you, Dr. V. You know I do. But this better be the last time I catch you like this, you got me? This is Roswell Community, not fucking Grey's Anatomy. Find a locking bathroom stall like a normal person."

"I understand, Kate, and I'm sorry. It won't happen again," Kyle said, sounding genuinely contrite.

"Alright. You have ten minutes and then I'm coming back to get the files I need." She didn't wait for his reply, simply turned on her heel and left.

Michael dropped his hands - and his illusory curves - as soon as she was gone. "Sorry, it was the only thing I could think of."

Kyle sighed. "It's fine. Liz did the same thing; we're obviously not an imaginative bunch. But where the hell did the boobs come from, Guerin?" he asked, staring at Michael's flat chest.

"Oh, did you like that? I can put them back," and the lines of his top began to round again.

Now Kyle gave him the murderous look Michael had expected. "Telekinetic breasts. I should have known." Michael laughed, and Kyle rolled his eyes. "Okay, hotshot, we have like eight minutes to get photos of this file. Let's get on with it."

"Whatever you say, Dr. V." Michael fluttered his lashes, making Kyle huff at him, but he did move, opening the cabinet using its combination this time.

Kyle rifled through the files, pulling the one he wanted: Jesse Manes. It had two folders held together with a rubber band and he passed one to Michael as both men pulled out their phones. "Take pictures of every page."

"Got it." He wasn't snarking now, instead giving the task the focus it needed, ignoring the contents of the pages beyond making sure they were in frame before he took each photo. Between the two of them, the barrage of flashing lights was bordering on ridiculous, but they finished without incident and Kyle put the file back, its rubber band holding the two parts together, and spun the dial to re-lock the cabinet.

"Okay, my office now, but we're going to go a different way so we don't run into Kate."

"Good idea. I'm behind you."

The alternate route involved more stairs than Michael was accustomed to and he was a little out of breath when they reached Kyle's office. Kyle locked the door, making sure the blind covered the small window in it, and held his hand out, palm up. "Do you mind if I take your phone and get the photos off it?"

"Be my guest." Michael passed it to him, watching him hook it up to a laptop he pulled out of a locked drawer; his own computer then, not the hospital's. "I see you've joined the ranks of the paranoid. Not actually a dig," he clarified when Kyle glanced back at him. "It's a good thing."

"Jury's out on whether it's good, but it's definitely necessary," Kyle spoke absently as he typed. "Once I get both sets on here, I'm going to upload them to the secure site Alex set up, and then I know I have them. I can print them later at the bunker."

"I can do that, if you want them waiting for you. I'd offer to read them too, but I don't know all the medical shorthand." Though he would look anyway. He wasn't about to pass up that opportunity.

"I'd appreciate that." Switching out the phones and starting to transfer his photos, Kyle rotated the chair to face Michael, giving him his phone. "I appreciate your quick thinking earlier, too." Facing the screen again, he chuckled, "It wasn't the worst kiss I've ever had."

Michael laughed. "I hate to think what was worse! That was pretty tense."

"Tense, but not terrible. Technique-wise," he could hear the smile. "The worst was probably my first kiss, because neither of us had kissed anyone before and it was kind of a drooling mess. Important milestone, and I was thrilled at the time, but I've learned a few things since then."

"Yeah, no, that does sound terrible," he chuckled. "My first kiss was with a girl who was a little older, so she knew what she was doing."

"That sounds better," Kyle laughed. "What about your first kiss with a boy, what was that like?"

His tone held nothing but honest interest, and the question catapulted Michael through his memories to the tacky surrounds of the museum and the feel of Alex in his arms, both of them gripping faces, backs, hips in a restless dance, neither quite sure what to do with their hands - but the kiss, the kiss they'd had down pat and he'd wanted it to never end. "Magic," he answered finally.

"Nice," with that audible smile again. The word equally described how Michael felt about being able to say that. To Kyle, of all people.

"Sorry you can't say the same," Michael teased.

Kyle chuckled. "You are making assumptions, Guerin." He clicked a few times, and Michael could see the upload bar starting to go green as Kyle turned to face him again. "My first kiss with a guy was back in college."

"Are you," he blurted, taken aback, then shook his head. "Not my business, sorry, forget I asked."

"Bisexual? No, I'm not," his smile seemed easy. "I took a gender studies class my sophomore year as an elective. It was my girlfriend at the time's idea," he grimaced, scratching the nape of his neck, "which should have been a clue. The relationship didn't last long. But as I learned more, I started wondering if, you know, that was why I'd been such a dick to Alex."

"It's not unheard of," Michael said cautiously. He had no idea where this was going.

"Right," he emphasised his agreement with a sweeping gesture. "It wasn't until med school that I had both the stones and the opportunity to test it, and, it was okay? Nice enough kiss, but it felt on par with a great hug. Didn't do anything for me really."

"So, not a factor then." He didn't know if he should congratulate Kyle or what. It wasn't exactly the same as when Isobel had started to remember Rosa and was confused by her feelings, which hadn't been hers at all, as it turned out. Or later, when she was not at all confused and making jokes about manicures. And that was the sum total of Michael's experience with someone who was questioning their sexuality. Alex might have been closeted, but by the time Michael had started getting to know him, he'd self-defined as gay. It had no longer been a question.

"Nope. It really was just me taking my fears and insecurities out on someone I cared about because of what other people thought," he sighed. "Pure shit all around. I'm just glad Alex doesn't hate me."

"He's better at forgiving than hating." Even when he shouldn't, at least in Michael's eyes. But Alex wouldn't be who he was without that well of infinite compassion. Every strength had a corresponding weakness.

"True," Kyle nodded.

"Anyway," Michael drawled, "tell me about Kate. Is she single?"

Kyle threw back his head and laughed. "She would chew you up and spit you out, Guerin."

"Well, yeah. That's the fun part, Valenti," he smirked.

"To each their own," he laughed again. "As it happens, though, Kate is married. Sorry, buddy."

Michael shrugged, "Worth asking." He ignored the warm flush at hearing the same word Max used for him when feeling particularly affectionate. After spending hours on end together in the lab working to bring Max back, and in the bunker researching Project Shepherd, Michael could admit that as an adult, Kyle was alright. Not a bad kisser, either, once he'd relaxed and stopped squeaking. It didn't make them friends.

"You're feeling better, if you're interested in Kate. That's great."

"Better than what?" Michael asked, tilting his head inquisitively. He hadn't been sick or anything; Kyle knew they didn't get sick.

"About the breakup. It's tough going for a little while after something like that." His eyes were a different shade of brown to Alex's but the concern without pity was a familiar enough look.

It still got Michael's back up, and his first instinct was to deny he'd been affected at all. But it didn't feel respectful to Maria to diminish the way he'd felt about her by doing that. He bit back the snark and shrugged again instead. "It doesn't feel like being kicked in the stomach when I see her or talk to her anymore, so I guess that's progress."

"It is," Kyle nodded. "You're still giving her serum injections?"

"Yep," popping the final consonant. "And still not telling Max I know how to make it. I do not need his manic ass doing any more stupid things." It was still weird, being the sensible one. Michael wasn't keen on the role. But it was what Max and Isobel - and Maria, in her alien explorations - needed from him, so here he was. Having a heart-to-heart with Kyle fucking Valenti.

"The serum's done all it can for his heart, as far as healing it goes, so I have to agree on continuing to keep it away from him," Kyle sighed. "Otherwise, it's a wait and see game."

"Like a normal transplant patient."

He snorted. "Guerin, nothing is normal with you guys."

That, Michael couldn't disagree with.

*

Alex slid onto the end barstool at the Pony, surprised to find no one behind the bar. Not for long, though, and he smiled when Maria appeared, two new bottles of liquor in hand from the back room. He greeted her, "Hey, stranger! You're back to mornings?"

She placed the bottles on the shelf and came over to him, smiling. "Hey yourself! I've shunted Max onto the late shift like the trooper he is. Honestly, I've never been happier that someone got fired, you know? He's been a godsend."

"Yeah, you two seem to work really well together."

"We do! I love having a head bartender I can really rely on. Speaking of bartending," she winked, "what can I get you?"

He pursed his lips. "Just a coffee or something. There hasn't been enough day yet for me to be day drinking."

Maria laughed. "Well, give me a minute and I think you'll be pleasantly surprised."

"Okay," he smiled, curious, as she went to the far end of the bar. Alex craned his neck to see better as he heard a familiar hissing sound. When did she get an espresso machine?

She set a mug of black coffee in front of him, watching him with anticipation. Alex raised his eyebrows but dutifully picked up the mug and took a sip. "Americano. You remembered."

"Of course," Maria rolled her eyes. "My beverages memory is not limited to alcohol, Alex."

"That's fair," he allowed, and took another sip. "It's good. I thought the machine was too expensive?"

"Oh it would have been, if I'd had to pay for it myself. But that baby is courtesy of the deal I made with the mayor et al for the Pony's operations during Crash Con. The signature cocktail was coffee-based so I managed to acquire a grant to buy the thing. It's great, don't you think?"

"I do think," he grinned. She was such a shrewd business owner; it regularly blew Alex's mind. "You're awesome."

"Why thank you," she mirrored his grin. "It's nice to have more non-alcoholic options, too."

He knew she was thinking of Rosa. "How are they? Still good? I haven't talked to Liz in a bit."

Maria snorted. "You're only marginally better at long distance communication than she is."

"That's fair," he chuckled. "Last I heard, Rosalinda was enjoying the proximity to the beach," careful to use her current day name.

"Yep. She's spending time on the beach most days, with an easel and her paints. Sends me photos," she smiled, the thread of sadness in her voice entwined with one of pride. "Going to meetings regularly, too. I think California has been really good for her, just getting away, you know?"

"Yeah." Alex did know something about needing to physically remove yourself from the site of so much trauma. He'd also needed to come back to finish the process, or get started on it at least; it was still a work in progress. "And Liz is happily submerged in science."

"Happy about Arturo's paperwork on the fast track, too. And, she doesn't shut me down anymore if I mention Max, so that's better."

"Good, that's good. I mean, getting her dad's ducks in a row is a valid reason all on its own, but the change of scenery seems to be working for both of them."

"It definitely is. Anyway," she spoke briskly, the subject firmly closed, "how are you, then, hm?"

Alex accepted the abrupt segue. "Good, yeah. I think the, um, the new reality has finally settled in, with the house on the market. Greg has been amazing." His brother had gotten the property listed as soon as the will had cleared, and was handling the entire process. It had taken Alex a while but for once, he was glad someone else was in charge. Of course, there was no way Alex would have been named the executor of Jesse Manes's estate, anyway. That would have required formally acknowledging Alex existed in the paperwork.

"Mm, yeah, your brother is getting shit done, now that he's deigned to show his face in Roswell again."

Her voice held an admiring note he recognised. "Maria. Are you trying it on with Gregory?"

She looked upwards to one side and shrugged that shoulder, a smile playing around her mouth. "No? I won't deny I'm thinking about it, though. He got hot."

Alex remembered the last time he'd heard that opinion on someone, and how the rest of the sentence had gone. "And he's a teacher, so you can safely introduce him to your mama," sharper than he'd meant to say it and not a joke at all.

Maria gazed at him for a long minute, one eyebrow arched, head tilted in the opposite direction. Her expression indicated he'd be getting pushback and he welcomed it. "You don't get to judge, not when you lied right to my face about not having noticed Michael. Not to mention, things changed after I got read in and we were actually dating. I did, in fact, introduce them, and Mimi likes him."

"I'm sorry," words that tumbled out more easily these days, in true contrition. "That was uncalled for."

"It was," she agreed, but without heat. Regarding him a moment longer, Maria sighed, shaking her head. "You are such a bitch sometimes."

"Guilty as charged," Alex admitted, and Maria rolled her eyes.

"Things might have been messy for a while, but it was hardly criminal, Alex."

"Point taken. Anyway, how are you, really? Last we spoke, you were still getting tired more easily," he redirected to the topic he did want to cover. He didn't want to take his own unsettled emotional state out on her.

Maria wrinkled her nose. "Yeahhh, I'm not bouncing back as quickly as I'd like. I'd say I'm like, eighty-five, ninety percent there, you know? That's why I put Max on closing, just until I can pull up that extra fifteen percent."

"Makes sense. Although, we're twenty-eight now, so maybe you're already at maximum." He laughed at the face she made. "Hey, I had to learn that one early, so count your lucky toes."

"That was truly terrible, Alex," she giggled, and he laughed with her. "So, verdict is the coffee's good?"

"Definitely."

"Yes," she hissed, making a fist and pulling her bent elbow down towards her body. Relaxing the pose, Maria cocked her head at him. "Matter of fact, you look like you needed it. Burning the candle at both ends again?"

He shook his head. "No, nothing like that. Just a few, um, late nights recently," a small smile turning up the corners of his mouth.

"O-ho! The kind of late nights that involve company?"

"Yeah," and it felt like a confession, something he would only have admitted to under the cover of darkness once, when he could cling to plausible deniability. It was good to be able to be this honest, even if he could feel warmth in his cheeks.

"Very nice! And, that reminds me," she paused, digging out her phone. "I've had this since the week after your open mic debut and I keep forgetting to send it to you."

"And 'this' would be...?"

"Well, Wolf was still filming when you decided to announce your relationship or whatever with Forrest. I had him put that part into a separate file so you could have it privately, you know?"

His pocket chimed with a received message as he realised what she was talking about. "Oh, the kiss. Okay, I'll look at it later. Are you sending it to Forrest, too?"

"Nope." Maria put her phone away. "Forrest is a let it all hang out, fuck the world guy. He won't care what gets done with it. You will." She gave him a fond smile. "This way, you get to decide what you're comfortable with. You, me, and Wolf are the only ones who know it exists."

Alex grinned at her. "You _have_ been listening to my lectures on cyber security after all."

Laughing, Maria threw a balled-up napkin at him.

[end chapter five]


	6. Attitude Control

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for mention of homophobic language and canonical child abuse. Nothing too detailed.  
> ~ Tas

Michael looked up from his notes at the sound of a long sigh and the scrape of chair legs. "Break time?"

"That, and unfortunately I think I've now collated every mention of Mr. Jones. There just isn't that much," Max complained.

"You could always get the Counting Crows involved." He smirked when Max gave him a disgusted look.

"Funny. There's a lot more info on the Long farm, is all. Nobody thought anything weird was going on at the Jones farm until he disappeared, and even then, the prevailing theory seems to have been that he was helping Roy Bronson and died in the barn fire."

"Reasonable assumption," he nodded. "And farmers don't make their own crop circles. That gets blamed on aliens or teenagers, depending on who you're talking to."

"Yeah." Max shook his head. "I don't know how you guys deal with this stuff constantly. I mean I know _why_ \- Kyle and Alex both have this tainted legacy to overcome, and you've always wanted answers - but day in and day out? It's a lot, man."

"It can be," Michael allowed. "The information is worth it, though, and it's not like it's gonna get done any other way than to slog through it."

Max nodded, twirling his pen. "Yeah. And I guess, I mean, I want answers too, now. Even if they're getting increasingly uncomfortable." He fixed his gaze on the pen.

The revelation that the three of them were not related had been hard on Max, Michael knew. For himself, it was merely confirmation of an eternal truth, but Max and Isobel had always been so close. And while the circumstances couldn't be more different than the few minutes Michael had been able to spend with his mother before her death, he knew how it felt to have your world rocked in a way that called your entire being into question. "You know Iz and I don't believe you're dangerous."

His smile flickered, there and gone. "I know. But..."

"Can't shake it. I know."

"Yeah." He sighed. "I can't stop thinking about what Sheriff Valenti said."

"Oh, for - Max. It's not about the fucking crayon, okay? Can you please let it go?" Michael implored, exasperated. He'd been angry when he'd first found out about what had happened at the group home all those years ago; of course he had. Then he'd pictured Max in some of the situations he'd faced as a kid. Max without Isobel as an anchor. Max without any parental support. Max, who'd always had difficulty controlling his powers even with those advantages. Max, who had an instinct to kill.

Michael throwing furniture had been bad enough. Max would have burned the house down - or blown it up, with the meth-heads - or he would have gone on a killing spree. Which probably would have ended in his death, and Michael and Isobel's subsequent capture once the medical examiner realised the body wasn't human. No, as much as it sucked (and it did, truly, suck), Max had gone exactly where he'd needed to be.

Learning that Sanders had tried to adopt him had meant accepting that the system was the only party who deserved blame, for rejecting the application of a single older man who could have given Michael a stable home, and bouncing him instead between insufficiently vetted foster situations. As Isobel had been telling Michael for years, it wasn't Max's fault that the Evanses had adopted him alongside Isobel. It wasn't anyone's fault. Michael himself had taken the crayon from Max. He could blame himself for that. Or he could blame the then Deputy Valenti for not stepping in and explaining what she'd seen. But what was the point? Wagging a finger didn't help anything. It didn't change anything. It just kept the righteous outrage fresh, and Michael didn't need that anymore.

"Michael, I ---"

"Save it. You know, in spending time down here with Valenti and Alex, I've gotten pretty good at recognising what it looks like when someone takes on a responsibility that was never theirs, and you are fucking doing it right now," he spat out. "What do you need to stop it, Max? You want forgiveness, is that it?" He watched Max's mouth work, soundlessly, like he couldn't reach the answer. Michael barrelled ahead, confrontational, but in complete sincerity nonetheless, "Well, you can have it. All is forgiven, Max, as long as you get your head out of your ass and quit moping about our respective childhoods."

The change in Max's body at the words was extraordinary, a ripple of peace straightening his posture, a sudden slackness in his face as the frown lines smoothed away to nothing. "Thank you, Michael."

"You're welcome. Now, can we get on with it?"

His brilliant, bashful answering smile would stay with Michael for a long time. "What do you want me to look at next?"

*

"How far back do you want to go?"

"Good question, Isobel," Alex sighed. "I don't know when Dad first told him about aliens. It might have been as early as in high school, like when my grandfather told Dad."

"Oof. How old was Flint when your parents separated? It would have been after that, I'm guessing?" Kyle enquired.

Separated. That was some polite phrasing. "I was nine when Mom left, so Flint would have been eleven."

"Alright, well, I'm not taking him back to age eleven. I mean that's like two thirds of his life ago," Isobel made a cutting motion with her hand. "It would be incredibly difficult."

"Okay, maybe we're looking at it the wrong way," Kyle interjected. "What if you remove all memories of Jesse? Totally erase every instance of him in Flint's head?"

Alex snorted. "Maybe you could do the rest of us after Flint." He saw Isobel's expression change, and he added, "I'm not actually serious."

"I know," speaking more gently than he'd heard from her previously. "But you saying that does tell me we're on the right track, targeting Jesse. If you feel that strongly about it, Flint is also going to have a little corner of his mind that wishes he'd never met your father. I can work with that."

"What do you need from us?" There went Kyle, offering himself up, as usual. The affection that accompanied the thought surprised Alex for a moment; he wasn't accustomed to truly thinking of Kyle as a friend yet. Again. Whatever.

"Well, you, Kyle, will be the medical observer, making sure everyone is still breathing and not having a seizure or something," Isobel told him breezily, then nodded at Alex. "As for you, hopefully you'll just be there to lend me some legitimacy as a visitor. But I might need to bring you in with me, if he's being stubborn about it."

"Into the mindscape?" Alex asked doubtfully. He wasn't sure he wanted to do that.

Kyle rubbed his palms together in a nervous gesture and suggested, "Maybe do a little trial run now? Then it'll be familiar at least, if you have to go there at the hospital."

It wasn't any more appealing an idea but it was a practical one, and Alex nodded in answer to Isobel's raised eyebrow and tilted head. "Yeah, okay. A trial run."

"Okay." She moved closer, sitting right beside him on the sleek leather couch. Alex fought the urge to shift away.

"What do you need me to do?"

"I'm going to take your hand," she matched action to words, her fingers warm and smooth against his. "Just try to relax. It can be easier if you close your eyes."

Alex simply nodded and let his eyelids fall. There was a brief moment of darkness and then what he supposed was his inner vision sparked to life, displaying Isobel's living room with an overlay of soft focus colour. "Is that it? We're here?"

"Yes. This is what you might call, neutral ground, our minds occupying the same time and place as our bodies currently are." In the mindscape, she let go of him and stood up, turning to meet his lifted gaze. "I have some questions for you." Her smile bordered on sly. "I probably should have mentioned before that you can't lie to me in here."

He'd been expecting a catch, and to find this was it, was honestly a relief. "I'm not in the habit of lying to my friends, Isobel."

"No," she agreed. "Just your superior officers."

"Are you complaining?" he asked, incredulous.

"Oh no, no complaints. I appreciate everything you've done, truly." She sounded sincere but Alex couldn't help but wonder if it was only him who couldn't lie in this place. "However. I want to know what your intentions are towards Michael."

The phrasing threw him. "My intentions? He isn't a Victorian maiden, Isobel."

"True. The question stands, though."

He couldn't see the ripple in the fuzzy atmosphere, exactly, but Alex definitely felt the subtle pressure to speak, providing the answer to her. "I intend to continue getting to know him better. I feel like we have a solid friendship. We never had that before and I want to keep it."

Isobel nodded. "And after that?"

"That depends on him as much as it does me," he sidestepped, relieved to find that he could, as long as he was still telling the truth. While an alien influencer hadn't been a situation floated in Alex's training, interrogation under truth serum certainly had. He wondered if Isobel realised that.

From her faint smile, he guessed she did. "Alright. Let's get blunt. Do you intend to marry Michael?"

He blinked at her. "Um, we aren't even dating. And I have a boyfriend."

"Do you love Forrest?"

"No," it slipped out unadorned. "Our relationship is a step up from friends with benefits, but we're not in love."

"Then why are you with him?"

"I like him. I like spending time with him, and the sex is good. I can be myself, and figure out who that even is these days, without anyone else's influence." Alex had never put it quite like that to himself before. "You've been to Planet 7, you understand that it's a different environment from the Pony, or even the Crashdown. I've been learning where I fit, with someone who's plugged into the community in a way I never have been. I never had the chance, before. And," he shook his head, realising the truth as he spoke it aloud, "that isn't something I could have done with Guerin. He's more of a lone wolf."

"Behaviourally," she allowed, and sighed. "It might do him some good, honestly."

Alex smiled. "I don't know if it would be his thing. But it's been good for me."

"You do seem more," Isobel made an elegant S motion in his direction, "settled in yourself."

"I am." Relief swept through him as he said it; it wasn't bravado or wishful thinking. He genuinely was far more comfortable in his own skin these days. "Doesn't hurt that the other shoe did, in fact, drop, and then got buried with my father."

Her nose wrinkled. "I felt the same way about Noah."

"Similar kinds of evil," he agreed. If Jesse Manes had been able to insert himself into Alex's mind and control his body... a shiver ran through him at the idea. His grim sense of humour suggested that he'd probably have several illegitimate children out of it.

"Yeah." It clearly took Isobel a moment to shake loose of her shadows, too. "Okay. I want to look at two memories of your father, one with Flint and one without. That will help me understand what he feels like in the mindscape."

"For the one without Flint, do you want to watch him die? It's one of my favourites," he said caustically, drawing a laugh from Isobel.

"Go on, then."

Tugging on the strands in his mind, Alex watched her brow furrow as the environment shimmered, and he found himself standing to one side of Jesse, helpless to do anything but watch as his father pointed a gun at Michael, only for Gregory to intervene with one clear statement that still haunted him. _I know what he means to Alex._

He could feel Isobel beside him but he didn't look at her at first, caught up in watching his own memory play out with total clarity. Only when three men stood over the dead fourth did Alex turn to her. "Was that what you needed?"

"It will do. Your family seems very certain of Michael's importance to you." Her eyes held an intensity belied by her conversational tone. "Why is that?"

Alex opened his mouth to answer but the shimmer all around them got there first, reforming into the living room of the Manes family residence. His teenage self was there, bent towards where Jesse gripped his ear, while Flint and Gregory stood at parade rest by the wall. "No," he hissed, slightly panicky, but history paid him no mind and the memory played out in full.

The lecture had come first, all the slurs you could want as Jesse had explained the transgression to his brothers, and then they all watched the punishment, his younger self crying at the pain inflicted without ever marking his skin. The tears, Alex remembered, had had more to do with the blood on his clothes on this occasion. "Michael's blood," he whispered, aching all over again for the innocent joy ripped away from them that day, in more ways than the boy in front of him could ever have imagined.

When it was over, his teenage self permitted to go to his room, the air shimmered them back to Isobel's house. Alex swallowed, unable to look at her. "Was that enough? To get a feel for Flint?"

"I think so," Isobel said quietly. "Was it always like that?"

"No. He was always strict, but," he shrugged. "That started in middle school, when he realised I was gay. I hadn't, yet. Then Kyle started in once we got to high school, and by the end of sophomore year, I was like, fuck it. I was getting shit from all sides; might as well dress the part."

"You had some... memorable looks," she teased, and Alex laughed, some of the tension leaching out of his body. Or whatever passed as his body in here.

"That I did. Most of it deserves to stay in the past, but I've got a little bit of the same energy to some of my newer stuff."

"You had on a great leather jacket when we went to the reservation."

"Yeah, I love that jacket." He was glad he still had it. The striped sweater he'd worn with it had disappeared, superceded by whatever Helena had brought him to wear, but the jacket had been with his leg.

"And after that road trip, you got kidnapped, to ensure Michael's compliance. So I'll ask you again: why was your family convinced that you and Michael mean something significant to each other, in the present day?" Her tone hardened as she spoke and Alex realised he'd probably been manipulated into this corner.

His instinct was to prevaricate, but did it matter anymore? He had no further need, nor want, for secrecy. Maybe it was time for the unvarnished truth, entirely aside from any compulsion towards it.

"I love him, Isobel. Then; now; always."

It wasn't a defiant declaration, no longer the 'fuck you, I know he doesn't meet your standards but I love him anyway' that had often accompanied his feelings before. Instead, it was defensive on Michael's behalf - taking strength from the emotion. Proud of it, in a way Alex hadn't been before.

He risked a glance at her finally, finding a fond smile on her lips as she said, "I believe you."

Alex laughed, raising his eyebrows. "You said I couldn't lie in here! Doesn't that automatically mean you believe me?"

"Well," she started, tilting her head, "you can still lie to yourself first. That's where most people fall down. But I don't think you're doing that, are you?"

"Not anymore. I have in the past, but," he shook his head, sighing, "I've made my peace with a lot of stuff since my father died."

"It gets easier. Once some time has passed. You start to clarify your perspective without that filter in the way," Isobel said, pensive. She wasn't where Alex had expected to find some understanding of his experiences, but here they were.

"Do you need to see anything else?" He could pull on a less fraught memory than the one which had willed itself into the mindscape.

"No, that's fine," and suddenly she was beside him again, his hand folded in hers. "I'm going to take us back now."

No sooner had Isobel spoken than Alex was blinking against the light, disoriented. The return trip was a little harder on the body and he pushed down a wave of nausea, swallowing a couple of times until his stomach calmed.

"Good news: neither of you looked weird, just like you were sitting with your eyes closed. You weren't abnormally still or anything," Kyle informed them with a relieved smile.

"Thanks for watching out," Alex smiled.

Isobel gave his hand a squeeze and shifted away, stretching her arms over her head. "Now that we've established what we're doing, when are we doing it?"

"The sooner the better," Kyle opined. "Flint's still in a coma, but the swelling is starting to go down so he could wake up in the very near future."

"I'm on leave for the next few days, so whenever works for you two," Alex offered.

"Tomorrow evening? It has to be within visitors' hours still, to allay any suspicion. Can you make that, Kyle?"

"Doable," he agreed. "I'll text you what time to meet at my office."

"Wait." Alex remembered their previous discussions now he wasn't distracted by the physical. "Did you ever figure out the discrepancies in the medical records? Do we need to be alert for that person?"

"Guerin didn't tell you?"

He frowned, "No, I haven't really talked to anyone in like a week. Today was the first real break I've had in a while. That's why I've got a few days off, after the stuff that's been going on at work." He didn't elaborate and they didn't ask.

"Ah, okay, well, he and Max hit the books, so to speak. They pinpointed who it was falsifying the data, but when we connected that to a real person, it turns out that nurse has been quietly transferred to Santa Fe, at least on paper," he explained, gesturing as he talked. "In reality, she's vanished, and the other bits they dug up suggest she was a military plant. It looks like they're cleaning house after the cover-up of your dad's death."

"Alright, that's... not fantastic, exactly, but it removes the immediate danger at Roswell Community," Alex sighed. "She did falsify the records, though?"

"A few changes to Flint's that amounted to copyediting; I'm not really sure what the point was there, to be honest. Nothing significant was altered. Your dad's, though," Kyle grimaced, "those were significant. Two different files, effectively. In the real one, he did have a minor stroke after coming out of the coma, but it didn't have lasting effects. A few days of rest would have covered it."

"So it truly was all a lie." He'd known, and yet the confirmation stung. His pride, a little, that he'd been such a fool, and even more of a fool for the pain in his heart. Alex had had more than enough therapy by now to know the shape of that trap but he'd fallen into it all the same. "If she was working alone, she was probably put there by my father in the first place - possibly as the mythical Dr. Jane Holden, even - and we won't need to do more than stay alert going forward. I can get the full details from Guerin and do a deeper dive on her just to make sure." He'd used up a lot of his favours and goodwill in dealing with the fallout from the lab explosion, but he might have won some of that back in recent weeks by working his ass off, and, well, what they didn't know he'd hacked wouldn't hurt them. "But that's for later, after we cleanse Flint's memories."

Kyle's mouth twisted. "I'm still not keen on this as a solution. The cleansing, I mean."

"Valenti," Isobel interjected. Her expression acknowledged Kyle's difficulty but her tone remained firm. "This is the best option for everyone. Believe me when I tell you that."

He didn't perk up any and Alex glanced at Isobel, adding, "It's a morally grey area, Kyle, I know. What we're planning is not ethical. But neither was his attempted genocide."

"You said you thought he could be redeemed, that you wouldn't let him turn into Jesse 2.0," it skirted accusatory.

Alex took a deep breath. "I can forgive Flint, for the part he's played in my life. Because I know where that came from. It may have been more overt with me, but my father abused all of his sons." He sat forward, eyes intense on Kyle. "But when it comes to Crash Con? Caulfield? I'm not the injured party. And in the time since I said that, I've come to realise that there is no room in that forgiveness for a scenario where Flint is alive, awake, and knows about aliens. It is too dangerous."

There was a long silence. Kyle finally nodded, though he didn't look any happier. "Okay." He got to his feet. "I'm going to go. I'll text you both tomorrow."

They said their goodbyes and Isobel escorted him to the door. When she returned, she gave Alex a worried look. "Is he going to be a problem?"

He shook his head. "No. He's struggling with it, but he won't crack. And it's good that he's struggling with it." His faint smile was fleeting. "Someone needs to be the conscience of the group. You, Max, and Guerin don't have the luxury, and I moved into the grey a long time ago."

"That makes sense." She took a seat opposite him with a sigh. "What if the erasure doesn't work?"

"Immediately, you mean? As in, you can tell while still in the mindscape?" At her nod, he continued, "I think I need to come in with you, unless that will be too much of an energy drain."

"Once you're in, it's like you're tethered to me. There's no additional drain. So I agree," she gave him a tiny smile.

"Good. As to your question," Alex leaned back, slumping a little. "That depends on how good your telekinesis is." He met her eyes, seeing the confusion there, and asked, "Would you be able to constrict a blood vessel in his brain, make it burst?"

For once, Isobel seemed transparent to him, her emotions flitting across her face as she thought through what he was asking of her - potentially asking, anyway. Fear and horror gave way to comprehension and resignation, overlaid with a tint of determined protectiveness that Alex had sensed in her before. Often aimed at him. "Yes. I can do that if it becomes necessary.'

"We don't tell Kyle about this part of it."

The rueful smile indicated she understood. "Just between us."

"Yeah." He pushed to his feet, fatigue washing over him in a potent wave. "Hopefully it won't come to that, but if it does, I'll have your back."

"Well, if you didn't, I'd make sure you did," she winked, and Alex knew she was both teasing and deadly serious.

He nodded, acknowledging the twin truths, and rose to go.

[end chapter six]


	7. Angular Momentum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for Alex, Maria, and Michael all in the same place at the same time, with some friendly allusions to various relationships, etc..  
> ~ Tas

Alex had intended to go directly home, but wound up driving to the Wild Pony instead. He was a little off balance after the trip down memory lane and figured something more familiar than Isobel Evans's house (and less solitary than his own) might help re-centre him.

He caught sight of Maria immediately and waved, her cheerful smile bringing forth his as he slid onto a barstool.

"Hey, you! Did they finally let you off the base?"

"They did," he nodded. "Had a project. It's done now, though, so I've got a couple days off."

"Uh-huh," and he could tell she wanted to ask for details but wouldn't; they both knew 'a project' was as detailed as Alex would get. "You look tired. You want to lean into that with a beer or tell it off with coffee?"

"Beer, please." The hospital endeavour might not be until the evening, but Alex wanted to make sure he got half decent sleep tonight, because he didn't need to set an alarm to wake at the crack of dawn anyway. The habit was too ingrained.

"Coming right up."

He thanked her and sipped at the bottle while she served other customers, mentally turning over all the eventualities for tomorrow, evaluating the potential pitfalls and strategising potential responses to each.

Then his thoughts drifted to Isobel's personal questions, about his _intentions_. It still sounded ridiculous and old-fashioned as hell.

"Someone's pensive tonight," Maria said, her voice pulling him out of his own head. On reflex, Alex glanced at her wrists, seeing the silver bracelet with the sunny yellow and orange beads amongst the others stacked on her arms. She rolled her eyes. "Don't need that to read your face, Alex. I know you."

He smiled briefly. "I know you do. And you're right, I'm thinky. But, you're wearing the bracelet? I thought ---"

"At work, yes. Mostly," she made a face. "I've got the injections down to every other week, with me making some concessions and Kyle saying my scans look good."

"That's fantastic news," and this time, he really did smile.

"It is! And now I want to know what's got you thinky. Because it isn't work-related," she spoke with surety.

"No, it isn't. Um," how best to put it? "You know when we were talking a few months back, and you said you had to make a whole new plan after I came out? I'm, um, I guess I'm wondering what the new plan was."

Her eyebrows raised. "Oh hell, Alex, that was a long time ago! I think it was just to find a different guy I could love."

"Not sure I'd call that a plan," he frowned.

"Well, not much of one, that's true. I never really bothered expanding on it," Maria shrugged. "I mean, I dated in high school, but I was always aware they were high school relationships, you know?"

Alex nodded. "Then your mom's health started going not long after graduation." He knew that part of the story.

"Right." She sighed, a faraway look in her eyes. "The only real relationship I had after that was with Chad, and you know how that went."

"Yeah." He'd already gotten those details, too. "And then Michael."

"And then Michael." Her gaze returned to him, inquisitive now. "Was there something specific you wanted to ask?"

He shook his head. "No. The topic of marriage just came up today, in that unavoidable way it does," he rolled his eyes, not above leaning on a known button of hers about other people's nosy behaviour to avoid having to reveal exactly how it had come up. "It got me thinking, is all."

"Are you planning to pop the question to a certain history nerd?" she asked quietly, and his eyes widened.

"What? No. No, we don't have that kind of relationship," Alex explained. "It's sort of like your high school boyfriends. Planned obsolescence. On both sides," he clarified at the sharp look.

Her sour expression smoothed into comprehension. "That's a laid-back approach for you."

He laughed. "Ouch, Maria!"

"Oh, you know what I mean," she scoffed. "He's been good for you, though. You smile more these days."

"Yeah. Although some of that is being half orphaned," he raised his eyebrows meaningfully and she snorted. "But I think that's also part of why the discussion didn't just roll off me like it usually would."

"Because it's a brave new world and he can't hurt you anymore." Maria reached over and patted his hand, and he nodded, gaze dropping to follow the movement.

"I realised I didn't make a new plan back then. Not even one as foggy as yours," the corners of his mouth tipped up. "Once I knew - once I admitted the truth about myself to myself - I discarded any hope of a plan. I finally understood my father's... discipline, let's call it, was rooted in something I couldn't change, and his hatred was strong enough that I knew it would ripple outward to any boy I dared care about." He pressed his lips into a tight line, shoulders hunching. "Plus it was illegal in New Mexico until a few years ago, and DADT was only repealed a couple years before that, so. I gave up on the idea that I could ever have something, like, more permanent. Like marriage."

"Oh, honey," she murmured, so softly Alex barely heard it.

"Pretty sad, huh?" he joked feebly.

"If by sad you mean it causes me sorrow, yes," Maria told him.

"Point taken," he huffed a laugh, mirroring her small smile. "Anyway, that was today's epiphany."

"What was?" enquired a third voice, and Alex whipped around to see Michael, hoping the question meant he hadn't actually overheard anything further back.

"Hey, Guerin. How are you?"

"Decent. I gather your project's finished, since you're showing your face finally." Michael indicated the stool beside Alex, looking between him and Maria, covering his nerves at finding himself in their joint company with swagger and manners. "This seat taken?"

He slid onto the seat as they both made welcoming noises, placing his hat on the bar, and Maria poured him a generous measure of tequila. "First drink is on the house, because I had a bunch of women wanting frozen dacquiris a couple of hours ago and I was appreciating all over again that you fixed the ice maker at the beginning of the week."

Michael laughed. "I'll take it, thank you," enjoying her smile. They were settling into a friendship, a real one, and while there was still the occasional twinge, it was nice to see Maria now and be able to talk to her.

He shifted his attention to Alex. "You getting any time off for good behaviour?"

Rolling his eyes at the phrasing, Alex replied, "Yeah, I've got a few days. Kyle caught me up on the medical stuff earlier." It functioned as shorthand, since Flint's care was the legitimate part of that but Michael would understand he meant everything about the records and the nurse, too. He smiled when Michael simply nodded.

"Good. So what was today's epiphany?"

"Oh, it was, it wasn't anything really, just something about high school," he answered hastily. Alex knew how awkward he sounded but he didn't feel prepared to include Michael in the conversation he'd been having with Maria. Instead, he changed the subject. "How's Sanders? I'm assuming you came here from work?"

"I did, yeah," Michael let the unsubtle switch pass unremarked upon. "He's good, same as ever." Addressing Maria, "You know, I think it would mean a lot to him if you came over to the junkyard, spent some time with him. He's fond of Isobel because she reminds him of Louise."

"Oh, yeah, 'cause I'm super tall and blonde," Maria refuted the idea.

"It's not about her hair, DeLuca. He thinks she's a firecracker. In that respect, you two are," he grimaced before continuing, "a lot alike. Scary alike, if I'm completely honest."

He saw the pleased smile move across her face and it still felt good, making that happen, but it wasn't the warm rush it had been before. At least, not the same kind, and Michael wondered if he was supposed to mourn that, too, using a different set of paints to colour his emotions towards Maria now. Mostly he was grateful he still had a set of paints at all, as Maria said, "She thinks that's why we clash, you know. Too much alike in some ways. Not that she put it that way, but I can decode Beckyspeak."

"Who am I to disagree with either of you?" he smirked, and Maria laughed, Alex's low tones joining in a moment later.

"On that hilarious note, Guerin, mind keeping my seat warm while I hit the head? Maria, I'll have another beer when I come back, please."

"No problem," he told Alex, a nod and wave from Maria confirming her agreement. Michael watched him walk partway across the bar before turning back to Maria, finding an amused smile on her face. "What?"

"That was the most obvious ass watch I've seen in forever."

He chuckled. "Nah, I was watching his gait. The way he walks gives me a rough idea of how much pain he's in, and that tells me something about his probable mood."

"Huh. You keep surprising me, Guerin. He's been in a pretty good mood so far, if you want to factor that into your Alex equation."

"Noted," he grinned.

Maria rolled her eyes then leaned closer, speaking quietly, "Before you came in, we'd been talking about marriage - in the abstract sense. When we were little, Alex and I figured the two of us would get married someday. Then we got to be teenagers, and certain realities came to light."

"I see," Michael said, and he did; he knew, probably better than anyone else on the planet, how much Alex and Maria cared about each other. "So goodbye to your original plan."

"Right. Except, it turns out we handled it totally differently. I went, okay it can't be Alex, I'll find someone else someday. Alex, though, he shelved the idea of marriage altogether." The tone of sadness gave Michael a hint at why she was sharing all this, but he had to ask anyway.

"Why are you telling me? He didn't seem like he wanted me to know."

She blew out a breath. "It's not that, it's just that he needs to go away and think about it before he'd even be able to talk to you about it. He literally realised today that he could actually have that, if he decides he wants it, off someone's conversation in his vicinity."

"Oh," was all Michael could muster, comprehension flooding him. All the poison Jesse Manes had fed Alex, compounded by discriminatory state laws and then military culture... fuck.

"I can see the wheels turning, Guerin. Does that give you some behavioural insight?"

"Yeah," he breathed, stunned by _how much_ insight it provided, especially combined with the relatively recent discovery that Alex needed processing time for feelings. Enough that Michael wanted to set it aside until he was back at his trailer with time alone to think it through. "Thank you, it - yeah, it puts some stuff in perspective."

"I thought it might," Maria gave him a sweet smile. "And what about you, hm? What are your plans for marriage?"

It seemed she was like Isobel in other ways, too. Was it something about the approaching milestone of thirty that had everyone trying to plan his life? He chose his words carefully. "It's a definite maybe. Having a spouse would be better than single parenting, and it would make it easier to adopt, specifically."

"You want kids?" she asked. They'd never gotten around to discussing the topic while they'd been dating and her surprise wasn't unexpected.

"Yeah," he answered, the longing clear even to himself. "Don't get me wrong, a partner would be great, but that isn't my ultimate goal."

"Ooh, ultimate goal sounds serious, Guerin," Alex remarked as he drew even with Michael and reclaimed his stool. Only after he'd spoken did he notice Michael looking nervous. To save him from the awkward sidestep Alex had self-inflicted earlier, he quickly added, "You don't have to tell me, though."

"No, I mean, it isn't a secret or anything, just, uh," he floundered.

"We were talking about Michael's desire to have children," Maria interrupted smoothly.

That was news to Alex but it made sense instantly, slotting neatly into the knowledge he'd been acquiring about Michael for the past year and a bit. He smiled, "Yeah? Adoption, right?"

"If I can, yeah," he nodded. "Though if Iz decides she wants a kid, I offered to donate. Might help avoid some difficulties." Alex watched his gaze travel to Maria then bounce, and he knew Michael was thinking of the 'degenerative brain disease' in Maria's family that had turned out to be the effects of someone not fully alien using alien powers.

"That's great, Guerin. I think you'll be a great dad."

"Really?" Michael asked, clearly taken aback; Alex heard a faint, wordless echo from Maria.

He addressed Michael first. "Yes, really. It's like with music - you understand the silence in between the notes. What _not_ to do, you know?" At Michael's hesitant nod, Alex raised his eyebrows at Maria. "As for you, the only reason you didn't get fired from your babysitting jobs like Rosa did is because I went with you most of the time and, unlike you, I like kids."

"Okay, okay," she conceded, holding her palms up. "It was a good system. We got our homework done, I got paid, and you got out of the house."

"I usually got a short grace period afterwards too, until Dad confirmed we were still just friends." It didn't sting to say like it would have, once.

Maria grimaced, "That, I hadn't known. You weren't the most forthcoming person. I mean, you didn't talk about it at all for a long time."

"I know," Alex sighed. "I'm trying to be better about that, honest." He gave her a smile, then turned to Michael, realising they'd excluded him a little. "Sorry, didn't mean to go on such a tangent."

"Yeah, no, all good," Michael told him. He enjoyed watching them banter, though some of what he'd just learned had his mind spinning. "Sometimes it's hard to get your head out of high school once you start thinking about it."

"Ain't that the truth," Maria exclaimed, making them all laugh.

Michael drained the last of his tequila, enjoying the burn in his throat, and set the glass down on the bar, hand moving to his hat. "Thanks again for the booze, DeLuca, and Alex for the company. I gotta get going."

"Already?" He nodded and she shrugged. "If I'd known you were only going to have one drink, I wouldn't have bought it for you!"

He laughed. "Ordinarily I would stay, but I'm in the middle of something in the lab."

"In that case, have fun being a nerd," Alex teased, and Michael couldn't help but grin and clap his shoulder.

"Oh, I will," he winked, donning the hat, and he sauntered out the door, eager to get his hands into science and his brain turning over what he'd learned today.

Alex watched him go, the back of his shoulder tingling with warmth where Michael's hand had been.

"You're both as bad as each other," Maria shook her head with a smile when he faced her again.

"How do you mean?"

"He watched you leave the room, too."

"Oh, that's, he kind of keeps an eye on my leg. We talked about it a while ago. It would bother me, but," he shrugged. "I used to monitor his hand the same way, and I try not to be a total hypocrite."

"Uh-huh," her tone teasing and her eyebrows raised. "Wasn't his hand you just followed out the door."

Alex parted his lips, but no sound emerged, because he couldn't think of a way to refute the accusation. Finally he laughed. "Fine. Busted."

"You're cute," she said, laughing with him. "I don't know if your boyfriend would think so, though."

"Forrest knows. He's known all along," he pursed his lips.

"Is that why you're casual?"

"Partly. More that neither of us was wanting something serious, you know? Not every relationship is required to be the be-all, end-all."

Plopping a clean pair of shot glasses on the bar, Maria poured the tequila and handed him one. "I'll drink to that." They clinked glasses and each swallowed the contents.

"So you're okay then? With Michael?" Alex found himself asking.

"I am," she asserted. "It's a little weird sometimes, being friends with a person whose orgasm face you know well, but we're finding our footing."

"Jesus Christ, Maria," he groaned, laughing. "I know what you mean, but still!"

She smiled at him. "The way I see it, once upon a time, I was in love with you. And yes, it was immature puppy love, but it was there, and I had to give that up and work through the feelings. Because you were too important to me as a friend to lose just because the romance part didn't work out."

He reached over to take her hand. "And that's how you feel about Michael now?"

"Yeah, more or less. Plus there's that whole, not related but family thing around Isobel, and," she paused, scrunching her nose. "There's a few reasons I broke up with him. The most important one being that I didn't feel able to be my entire self while we were a couple. That isn't something I'm willing to compromise on."

"I get that." His gaze drifted to their joined hands. "The irony is, he's one of the few people I feel, whole, with. Kind of the opposite direction."

"But it's a good direction, for you," Maria said gently.

"Yeah," he agreed, and changed the subject, settling in with another beer. He could get an Uber or a cab later; he didn't have anywhere better to be tonight. Truth be told, there were few places better than hanging out with his best friend, just because.

[end chapter seven]


	8. Acceptance Margin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for mention of child abuse, the shed incident, and vomiting. Also unethical use of alien powers.
> 
> Next update will be next Monday as I have RL stuff going on this week.  
> ~ Tas

Alex grew calm as Isobel pulled into the parking space and cut the engine, his mission focus coming to the fore. He waited while she texted Kyle, checking everything was a go, and upon his confirmation they both slid out of the vehicle. The beep of the lock sounded as they walked away, and on into Roswell Community Hospital.

He didn't hate hospitals, for all that he'd spent a lot of time in one or another the past few years. Medical staff who didn't even know him had been more caring than his father ever had. He didn't know if they made Isobel nervous, but he wasn't going to ask, and he knew she would never show it if they did.

Kyle's office continued to resemble a supply cupboard but he was there, in scrubs and a lab coat, ready.

"It's quiet on that wing tonight, at least so far. We've got almost two hours until the end of visiting hours, which you said would be plenty of time, right?" Kyle asked Isobel.

"I don't anticipate it taking more than an hour at the outside," she agreed. "Probably - hopefully! - a good bit less than that."

"Good, good," he said, and hesitated, as if he'd like to say more. It was the last chance to object in private and Alex waited for it, but instead Kyle sighed and continued, "Let's go."

In the hallway, Isobel took Alex's arm and he glanced at her, one eyebrow raising. She smiled, "Legitimacy, remember?" He didn't know why they needed to be joined to convey that, until they reached their destination and no one asked any questions or looked twice at the woman at his side, their physical closeness portraying an emotional closeness that rendered her presence natural and unremarkable in the context of visiting a sick relative.

"Being necessary and useless at the same time is weird," he murmured once they entered the room, and Isobel chuckled.

"People see what they want to see. If you know what that is and you can play into it, you can significantly improve the chances of achieving whatever your goal is. In this case, access to Flint."

He nodded, watching Kyle check everything his brother was hooked up to while Isobel dragged the two plastic chairs over to the bedside. It should have bothered him, how easily Isobel manipulated people, but he was finding the intention mattered to him, a lot. His father's machinations had stemmed from a desire to control and mould the world and everything in it to fit his personal vision. For Isobel, it was a skill originally learned to make herself fit into the world. Yes, she was prone to trying to tailor said world to her liking, but that wasn't the source nor the essence of her efforts. And if he were honest, a fair bit of what she did deliberately, he'd also seen Maria and Liz do, mostly on instinct. The 'attractive woman' power. Alex wasn't totally immune, either, despite his lack of attraction. They could be charming, in a way that was both analogous to and separate from the way Michael could be charming. Just, minus the innuendo.

"If you would take a seat, please," Isobel gestured to the chair closer to the foot of the bed, perching on the other one. He did, linking hands with her, eyes on Kyle.

"Alright, well, his vitals are good and his IV bag's been changed recently, so we shouldn't be interrupted. If we are, Isobel, I'll do what we discussed," Kyle gestured to her, and she nodded then looked at Alex.

"Ready?"

"As I'll ever be."

"Here we go." Isobel reached over and laid her hand over Flint's, connecting the three of them, and the pale green room splintered and reformed in a wash of brighter colour.

She began at the end, with a glowing hand in the parking lot, the carnival sounds and flashing lights, and worked her way back through Crash Con. Alex watched the memories surface and then dissolve, like so many soap bubbles in the wind.

Past Crash Con, the abductions. At the sight of Flint tied to a chair staring at Michael in a dilapidated warehouse, Alex spoke up, "Wait, wait. Can we see that one in full?"

He could sense her amusement as she replied, "You want to eavesdrop, hm? I'm curious, too. Let's."

With a whizz and a drop that made his stomach turn over, the memory rewound and began to play from the beginning, Flint blinking into consciousness at the buzzing sting of a cattle prod. Alex heard a soft noise from Isobel he couldn't identify; perhaps the same incredulity he felt, seeing Michael in this wholly unfamiliar mode. He was used to Michael angry. That had been his constant companion for as long as Alex had known him. But with the insights he'd gained, he'd come to realise that anger wasn't often the source of violence for Michael. That stemmed from self-loathing, an impulse Alex understood all too well, and from fear.

This, here, was terror. The bravado might have covered it up to Flint's eyes but Alex could see it, and he would bet Isobel could, too. And it wasn't even for himself. The way Michael's voice cracked asking if Alex was alive.... It was humbling, hearing it. Hearing the dreams Alex had only just learned about spoken about in a way that made it clear they weren't new; far from it. Hearing that brutally inaccurate word: provoked.

Michael hadn't been _provoked_. He'd been assaulted and maimed, and then he'd ridden to the rescue and taken on the false mantle of murderer.

They watched Michael bend to untie Flint then the memory started to shred, pieces dissolving backwards. Isobel cleared her throat. "It's not good, you know, him being so predictable that he showed up to be kidnapped before he'd even gotten the note."

A shaky laugh escaped Alex. "No, I get that. But my dad is gone, this process will remove Flint's knowledge about it, and Greg is sane."

More memories whizzed past in various stages of disintegration, dizzying him a little and he closed his eyes as Isobel said, wistful, "I wish he'd've let us help with his hand. Even if he didn't want to tell us the truth behind it, or have Max fully heal it, we could have helped. Or I could have, anyway. Setting the splints and wrapping it properly. The chasm that opened between him and Max after that night was too big for Michael to let him near enough for any of that."

"He wouldn't let me help, either - wouldn't let me see it. It was still wrapped when I left for Basic. The next time I saw him, it was a mass of healed scars." He'd thought he'd been ready for that, braced for the sight, but it had been difficult at first. Easier, later, when both of Michael's hands had been on his skin.

"Same. Once he started working on the ranch, he drove into town to see me every so often, but I don't think he saw Max for weeks. Not since the night Max bailed him out of jail for what he kept calling the stupidest crime ever." Her tone indicated her displeasure with the two of them.

"Hubcaps or something like that, wasn't it?" Maybe Isobel knew.

She snorted. "Not just any old hubcaps: the ones off Kyle's fancy new convertible, while it was parked at the Valenti house. It doesn't get much more, 'Please arrest me'."

"So it was on purpose," he murmured, mostly to himself. Of course, he wasn't alone and Isobel heard him.

"What do you mean, on purpose?"

"Um, that's the same day I left. He must have wanted to be inaccessible." That hurt, in the dull manner of an old wound that had closed but never fully healed.

"Ah. He didn't want to have to say goodbye," a quiet comprehension flavouring the words. "Michael isn't good at goodbyes. That's part of why most people don't get much farther than hello with him." She laughed softly. "He is at least aware of his abandonment issues, though I don't know how much that helps him deal with them."

"Yeah, so I've learned. I didn't know any of that back then, though." It definitely provided a depth of context to Michael's actions over the years that Alex had previously lacked.

"I think Michael had a thread of a connection to Nora, all those years. Max and I, we connected even more strongly to each other after we got adopted, but Michael dropped out of the circle when they sent him out of Roswell. If we had been older, or had more time to fortify it before being separated, or maybe if we'd been blood relations," she sighed. "But he always had this sense that there was more, waiting for him somewhere, and he was right."

"Yeah." His mouth twisted in an echo of guilt. "She was right there the whole time, and now she's dead."

"She is," Isobel agreed. "That's a hurt that's going to be healing for years. But those few minutes, and the story you two pieced together of her life between the crash and her capture, I think that's done a lot to help the original hurt, of being left behind."

"I hope so," and God, he did. As fumbling as his first efforts had been to gain that information for Michael, he'd done it with the hope of giving him some closure. In that much, Alex thought he might have succeeded.

"Is that it? Is that Caulfield?"

Opening his eyes, Alex swallowed against the sense of vertigo then squinted at the building frozen in the scene before him. It was from the perspective of a good distance away, and had three figures sprinting from the front staircase. Abruptly he realised who they must be. "Yes, that's it, right before it blew up. That's me, Guerin, and Kyle running. He obviously wanted to know whether we made it out."

"How kind of him."

Alex's chuckle was equally dry. "Yeah."

"He worked there for how long, did you say?"

"Um, he told me Dad had brought him in five years ago. I'm not sure if he was stationed there the entire stretch, though."

"Five years, okay. I'll scrub Caulfield, too, then," she declared.

He sighed in reluctant agreement. "There's no way to actually hold him accountable - him or anyone else - so it's best gone."

Isobel glanced at him. "This is as close to accountable as he's getting, Alex. Or as close to punishment, is perhaps more accurate."

"I know," he nodded. "We're taking the least wrong option here. Doesn't make it good, but, it's necessary."

"Are you okay?"

"With what we're doing? Yes," he said decisively. "I am, however, going to keep my eyes shut unless you need me to look at something. You're sifting through memories so fast it's making me a little queasy to watch it."

"I'm just that good," Isobel winked then faced forward again.

The rest of the time passed in silence. Behind his eyelids, Alex still had the impression of movement, and there was a quiet hum that threw the occasional line of muffled dialogue, like trying to listen to a conversation in another room with the door closed.

Eventually, he felt Isobel squeeze his hand. "I'm done. There may be some fragments; it's not a precision science. But there's nothing coherent left about the Crash Con debacle, Caulfield, or your father." She sounded completely wrung out, to a degree Alex had not heard before with her, and he squeezed back as he opened his eyes.

"Good. Time to leave?" He left it as a question; after all, Isobel was the one driving here. Alex was just along for the ride.

"Yep." That was all the notice she gave him before the edges of the mindscape began to shimmer and Alex was flung back into his body, his stomach heaving.

"I'm gonna ---" he managed, hearing Kyle swear as he reached for a steel bowl. In the next moment, it flew across the room into Isobel's hand and she hurriedly shoved it at Alex.

None too soon as his body spasmed and he vomited into the bowl, dizzy and from the feel of his gut, not done yet, either. He breathed carefully until the next spasm had him puking again.

"Dammit. This shouldn't be happening," Kyle hissed at Isobel. "You were the one doing all the work!"

"It shouldn't be," she agreed. Out of the corner of his eye, Alex could see the distinctive silhouette of a bottle of nail polish remover as she lifted it to her mouth. "It shouldn't affect a ride-along at all. We can't give him any of this to drink, either."

"Absolutely not," Kyle confirmed.

The third time brought up nothing but liquid and Alex coughed weakly, feeling the pressure subside somewhat. He wasn't sure if he was done but there was definitely a pause in the proceedings and he croaked, "Think it's okay for now but I need to get home ASAP."

"Here." Kyle handed him a cup of water.

Gratefully, Alex rinsed his mouth and spit into the bowl, then drank the rest of the water. It didn't garner any reaction from his stomach and he nodded. "Yeah, we're on hold."

"Alright, give me that." The cup went into the receptacle then Kyle disappeared into the adjoining bathroom; Alex heard the toilet flush followed by the tap running. He emerged and put the rinsed out bowl with other items that were waiting to be cleaned. "Do you think you can lean on Isobel to get back to the car? I'll meet you there with some anti-nauseants."

Taking stock of his body, Alex nodded. "Seems doable."

"Let's not dawdle then." Isobel stowed her bottle and stood, offering Alex her arm. He got to his feet, swaying a little in place as he oriented. His stomach remained steady enough, though, so he adjusted his grip on Isobel and they left.

By the time they reached the car, Alex was sweating heavily with alternating hot and cold shivers. His vision kept blurring so his steps were cautious. He heard the snick of the locks being disengaged and leaned against the rear door as Isobel released him, too, with a nudge to stay put. She opened the passenger door and gave him her arm again, letting him put weight on it as he got into the seat with her assistance, sighing tiredly.

Crouching beside him, Isobel examined his face, concern evident in the way she sucked in her lower lip. "You really don't look good. I think you're having a reaction to over-extending your brain. It's pretty similar to how I was after the first time I influenced Maria, while she was wearing the necklace. I did get in and see the memory that answered my question, but then I passed out and had a temperature and a nosebleed." She frowned. "I don't know _why_ you're having a reaction when you were only spectating, but I guess your body just doesn't like the mindscape."

"I had like a little hint of nausea after the trial run yesterday but I didn't think anything of it," he confessed, and she sighed.

"Okay, well - oh, there's Kyle," Isobel interrupted herself and moved back, giving the two men space as Kyle took over crouching beside Alex.

"Do you think you can manage to keep the pill down if you take it now?" Kyle asked, fishing out a tablet and a bottle of water when Alex nodded. He opened it, holding onto the cap as he gave Alex the bottle, and held out the pill. Down the hatch it went with a few gulps of water, then Kyle took the bottle back long enough to screw the cap on before reaching across Alex to place it in the cupholder in the centre console.

Alex had a brief flare of annoyance at what seemed like overly helpful behaviour but then he coughed and it set off what felt like a symphony in his head. The pain was a more familiar cue to swallow his pride. "Thanks, Kyle," he tried to smile.

The seat was comfy and Alex's attention wandered as Kyle and Isobel held a discussion at his elbow. They obviously came to some consensus as Kyle passed him a folded bag of heavy, waxed paper. "Barf bag if you need it on the trip. Isobel's got the rest of the medication and instructions, okay?"

"Got it," Alex assured, feeling the car vibrate as driver's door slammed shut. "Check in tomorrow."

"Yep," he patted Alex's shoulder and stood, closing the passenger door.

"Open that, please, so it's ready to go if you need it," Isobel instructed as she started the car.

Obediently Alex unfolded the bag, holding it open on his lap. He let his eyes close when they started to move, finding that kept the worst of the nausea under control. "So far so good."

"Good."

The drive was silent, not even the radio to break it. Alex focused on his breathing. Inhale for four, hold for four, exhale for eight. It helped keep his body settled and his mind occupied with counting.

When Isobel parked, he looked around, surprised to find they were sideways across the bottom of his driveway. A check out his window yielded the information that the typically empty spot beside his SUV was currently occupied by a beat-up old Chevy he knew. "Guerin's here?"

She chuckled. "You really weren't paying attention, were you? Yes, I told Kyle to call Michael, and he's going to stay with you tonight."

"But," Alex began to protest, letting the rest of it die as she glared at him.

"Kyle has to finish his shift. If the fever gets worse, you might need a cold bath and I kind of figured you'd rather not do that with me," she informed him tartly.

"Oh." No, that didn't bear thinking about. Isobel wasn't someone he'd be comfortable being naked around, though it was more because of his leg and their relationship not being that close than because she was female. Michael, on the other hand, had seen it all before, from every angle going. "Good call."

Michael watched Isobel get out of the car and go around to open the passenger door, helping Alex stand. That sequence of events told him as much as Kyle had on the phone about how shitty Alex was feeling.

He stood up from the patio chair, setting off the motion sensitive exterior lights as the pair approached. "Hey. I'll get the door if you give me your keys?"

It was silly, Alex reflected, to feel steadier simply because Michael was here. Michael wasn't a doctor like Kyle. He didn't share Isobel's influencing skills, the exercise of which had somehow made Alex sick today. But there was a solidity to Michael, a sense of safety, that Alex had been drawn to forever. He wasn't going to fight it right now.

Instead, he dropped his keys into Michael's waiting palm and said, "9314."

"What?"

"9314. It's the code for the alarm; the box is on the wall behind the door. As soon as you've unlocked and opened the door, you need to punch the code in on the number pad and hit the button with the little house on it, to tell the system that it's me and I'm home." He hoped that was clear because it was the best explanation he was currently capable of giving.

"Got it." Michael concealed his surprise at the ease with which Alex had shared the code. He supposed it could be changed later, though. Still, the trust warmed him as he followed the instructions, watching the 'home' button flash then burn a steady green while Isobel locked the door and helped Alex out of his jacket.

"I stopped and got a thermometer, the kind that goes in your ear. Kyle said that was a good one," Michael told them.

"I would have expected it to be a rectal thermometer from you, Michael," Isobel teased, and he gave her a sour look, making her laugh.

"Mm, right now I'd probably puke if I bent over," Alex managed a chuckle, and then frowned as Michael knelt in front of him and untied his shoes. "What are you doing?"

"Did you or did you not just say bending over would cause you to spew? C'mon, lift your knees so I can get these off," he urged one leg upwards.

Alex huffed but he lifted his right leg, keeping hold of Isobel to maintain his balance. Shoe and sock both got set aside, a fact he only noticed when Michael did the other, actual foot. "The floor's going to be cold," he complained.

"Yeah, for a couple of minutes, until you get into bed. You don't sleep with socks on."

"True," he admitted grudgingly. It didn't even seem weird that Michael knew that, though it had to be an assumption since most of the times they'd shared a bed, both of them had slept naked. Alex normally wore underwear to bed, adding a T-shirt only if it was really cold. He sighed, dragging his brain back into the present. "Bed sounds great."

"Do you have a bucket?" Isobel asked, her arm steady under his hand as they continued down the hall.

"Yeah, it's in the hall closet, by the kitchen."

"I'll get it," Michael offered, watching their slow progress for a minute to make sure Isobel was okay to keep supporting him; she looked exhausted, too. But they seemed okay and he removed his own boots and jacket before grabbing the bucket and meeting the pair in Alex's room just as Isobel flung back the covers so Alex could sit down.

Placing the bucket on the floor near the head of the bed, Michael asked Alex, "Will you be alright for a sec while I see Isobel out?"

"Yeah, yeah," he waved. "I don't need to bend to get my shirt off."

"Alright. Iz?"

She addressed Alex first, "You take care and I'll text you in the morning, okay?"

He looked up at her, noting again how tired she was. Calling in Michael had been about self care for her, too, as well as an acknowledgement that she wasn't up to looking after someone else tonight. Alex gave her a small smile. "You take care, too."

The two of them left him alone and Alex lifted off his long-sleeved tee, dropping it on the floor. Not how he usually did things by a long shot but Alex couldn't summon the energy to care right now.

It was a strange position to be in, getting undressed and waiting in bed for Michael Guerin, for the least sexy reason ever. It didn't feel as weird as he thought it should, though, and that was something he tucked away to consider when his brain wasn't so fogged in with illness. Instead of pondering, he worked on removing his jeans next, slowly, keeping his movements smooth as he worked the fabric down his thighs until he could kick them off. His leg might be more complicated but Michael would be back in a minute and could help.

In the hallway, Michael placed a hand under Isobel's chin, tilting her head up. "You need sleep, too. You kind of look like the end of one of your marathon runs."

She shook free and rolled her eyes. "Fuck you. Why do you think you're here?"

He chuckled. "Alright. Kyle told me to call him in the morning if Alex still isn't able to keep anything down, since it'll be a dehydration risk then, and he texted me the dosage schedule for the pills."

"Which are these," she drew them out of her handbag, depositing the package in Michael's hand. "He hasn't thrown up since taking the first one, which would have been right before Kyle called you."

"Good, that makes it easy to plan the next dose. Kyle said you thought it was similar to your reaction that time with Maria?"

"Yes, minus the nosebleed. I don't know why he had a reaction at all; he wasn't _doing_ anything but watching, and even that, he said it was giving him vertigo in the mindscape because I was going so fast. But it didn't really hit until we exited." She grimaced, her mouth setting in a displeased line. "I've never had a human with me in there for that long. I guess it exceeded his physical tolerance."

"Well, it's done now. Next time give me a head's up, though, huh? I didn't know you were gonna take him in with you," he tried not to sound accusatory, because it had been their decision and by Kyle's account, an informed one, but he didn't like being left in the dark.

Isobel's face softened and she grasped his shoulder. "I didn't mean to make you worry. Or make Alex sick! But like you said, it's done, so." She straightened with a little smile. "You go look after him, and I am going to go home to my bed. We'll talk tomorrow."

"Yeah." He returned the hug and locked the door behind her, watching until she pulled out of the driveway. Then he verified that the little house button on the alarm box still shone a steady green, and went back to Alex.

[end chapter eight]


	9. Threshold Friction

Entering the bedroom to find Alex in only underwear and prosthesis wasn't a surprise, but that didn't make it unaffecting. At least until the greater expanse of visible skin made it obvious how much Alex was sweating, and how off his colouring was. "You actually look grey. How do you feel?"

"Miserable. Whatever Kyle gave me seems to be doing its thing, though, the nausea isn't so bad. It's mostly the temperature and the sweats now. And the aches." None of which he liked but it was better than puking his guts up again. Alex gestured down his body. "Could you take my leg off, please? I don't want to risk leaning forward when it feels like my stomach is behaving."

"Of course. You got a laundry basket for these?" he asked, scooping up the discarded clothing. A pointed finger indicated a wicker hamper and Michael dropped the clothes into it before coming back to kneel in front of Alex. Deftly he removed the prosthetic leg and its liner, setting both aside. "Dish soap is okay, right? I'll wash it later."

"It's fine, yeah, thanks. You can leave it to dry at the side of the sink." He pointed again, this time to the night table. "Could you please pass me the plastic box there? I want to get rid of some of this grossness."

Leaning over, Michael grabbed the baby wipes, putting the box on the mattress beside Alex's hip. "There you go." He watched Alex extract a wipe, which he then held out towards his stump. The intent was obvious but Michael didn't take it. "I have a better idea. Why don't you use that on your chest or wherever, and I'll get a washcloth and do your leg. It's supposed to be wash, pat dry, and lotion, right?" He'd only seen Alex deal with it a couple of times, but he thought that was the sequence.

"That's right," Alex smiled, surprised and pleased Michael had remembered. It made it easier to accept the suggestion, especially since Michael was right and it would be better to do it properly. Everything else hurt, no sense in angering his leg, too. "Um, in the ensuite, there's clean cloths in the cupboard above the toilet, and the lotion is the pump bottle sitting out."

"Okay, gimme a sec to get 'em." Ducking into the bathroom, Michael pulled out two cloths from the stack. He ran lukewarm water over one, squirting a tiny bit of body wash onto the corner, then grabbing the dry cloth and the lotion with the other hand. Reprising his kneeling position, he began to gently clean the lower part of the stump with the soapy corner, glancing up at Alex. "Are you getting chilly? This won't take long."

"Should be, but not yet." While he felt a bit better for wiping himself down, he acknowledged that wasn't a true improvement, just more comfortable. "Once you're done there, we should probably use that thermometer."

"You took the words right out of my mouth." Michael finished washing away any soap residue with the damp cloth and picked up the dry one, blotting the cleansed skin until he couldn't feel any moisture left. Then a pump of lotion, smoothed over the area with both hands. It was nice, doing this. Being allowed. Trusted.

Even through the fog of misery, the gentle glide of Michael's palms soothed Alex and he sighed when it was over. "Thank you. It'll definitely be better in the morning for that."

"S'alright." Michael got to his feet and pulled the thermometer out of his pocket. "Tilt your head?" He smiled as Alex did so. Pressing the button on the thermometer, he inserted the tapered end into Alex's upraised ear, waiting for the beep. When it sounded, he checked the reading. "Under 100 F. According to Kyle, that's not in the danger zone for a healthy adult unless it won't go away."

"It hasn't been long so it's just a question of riding it out, then. Could you do me one more favour, please?"

"Yeah, of course." He held in a wry chuckle as Alex pointed again. Now was not the time to tease him about imperious behaviour. "What do you need, something in the night table?"

"In the bottom drawer, should be a bottle of anti-inflammatory meds and one of painkillers. Could you get me one pill from each, and a bottle of water from the fridge, please?" Those plus the nausea tablet should mitigate the worst of it and let him sleep. He was far more accustomed to pulling out the drugs for his leg, but that didn't hurt any more than the rest of him. Once upon a time, that would have called for plain old ibuprofen, but he didn't keep any on hand, preferring to use a pill splitter on his prescription meds if he needed a smaller dose. That got more complicated than Alex wanted to ask someone else to do, though, and it wouldn't hurt him any to take the one painkiller and pass out.

"Sure." Michael crouched to reach into the drawer, surprised by the presence of half a dozen bottles. "Uh, what are they called? Or can I just read the names to you and you tell me which ones?" He glanced over at Alex's nod, and pulled out the first bottle, reading its label aloud. Once he'd identified the correct medications, Michael shook out a pill from each and closed everything else back up in the drawer. "I'll be right back."

He'd never really thought about the kinds of medication Alex might need as part of his limb care. Which maybe wasn't surprising, since Michael had never taken any himself. Never had a prescription for anything. He vaguely remembered getting a basic check-up from a doctor as a kid, freshly hatched and non-verbal yet, but that had been his one and only brush with modern medicine until he'd become Liz's lab rat in an effort to heal Isobel, and then Kyle's in order to bring Max back. He'd learned early to clean and bandage his own cuts and scrapes. His repertoire had forcibly expanded after the toolshed, but Michael had always done all his own medical care, a fact he knew Alex knew because of the full kit Michael kept on hand that he'd used to treat Alex's stab wound. The necessity of staying away from the medical establishment wasn't something Alex questioned him about anymore.

Alone in his room, Alex slid backwards on the mattress, bringing his legs up with a groan. He wished he'd mentioned the stomach wobble to Isobel yesterday. Realistically, though, that wouldn't have changed anything; he still would have wanted to come into Flint's mindscape with her. It had been, and remained, important to him to be fully involved in that. Maybe it was some misplaced sense of duty towards his brother, or a need to support Isobel, provide reassurance that the issue of consent in cleansing the memories was Alex's to shoulder. He held himself responsible for the decision and the act itself, regardless of the hands carrying it out. Hiring a hitman still made you guilty of murder.

Upon re-entry, Michael noticed the change in position and the way Alex was drooping, like a neglected plant. He opened the water and gave him the bottle. "Once you've taken those, will you be able to get onto your side, facing the edge of the bed? I can make sure the bucket is right in front of you on the floor." He deliberately kept it a question, knowing Alex well enough to know that any hint of orders would not be met kindly.

"Yeah." He preferred sleeping on his back but that wasn't happening, not when he could puke again any time. Alex swallowed the pills and contemplated the best method of lying down while Michael moved water bottle, wipes box, and bucket around. Finally he sighed. "Can I borrow your arm? To pull myself into position?" He didn't like asking, but it was better than having Michael shift him bodily. Well, better for his pride, anyway.

"Yeah, sure."

Alex gripped Michael's proffered arm above the bent elbow, both hands wrapping around muscle that went taut and solid with Alex's weight as he used that support to lever himself into position. He let go abruptly as his stomach lurched despite the slowness of his movement, leaning forward over the edge of the bed, but thankfully it was a false alarm and Alex collapsed onto his pillow. "Fuck I hate being sick."

"Hopefully if you lie still and sleep, the medication will take care of it." Michael didn't like seeing him sick much better than Alex liked experiencing it.

"That is what I'm hoping," he agreed. "The remote for the TV is on the coffee table. Help yourself to snacks or whatever you want."

"Actually, uh," he said hesitantly, "would it bother you if the light behind you was on? I thought maybe I could read here?" He offered a gentler smirk than his trademark. "Unless your fancy security system means there's a way for me to monitor your condition from the living room."

Alex snorted a laugh. "No, setting the alarm to 'home' turns off the interior cameras, and there aren't any in the bedrooms or bathrooms anyway. If you want to turn the other lamp on and camp out on that side of the bed, be my guest. There's a bookcase in the spare room with some books in it."

Michael wanted to double check if he was sure it wouldn't bother him, but he knew it would be purely for his own reassurance; Alex had already answered the question. Instead, he said, "I'll do that, then, thanks. Sleep well."

"G'night." He watched Michael circle round the bed, though it wasn't until the overhead light was off that Alex could even tell the lamp behind him was on. It had a soft glow, barely noticeable with his back to it, and besides, he'd learned to sleep in far harsher conditions than in his own bed without complete darkness. It was kind of nice that Michael wanted to watch over him. He knew Michael had limited experience with illness, so if it kept him calm to stay close, Alex didn't mind.

As he succumbed to fatigue, Alex was aware that Michael was one of only two people on the planet who he would be comfortable with in this situation, and the other one was Maria. Anyone else, he would have kicked out well before now, including his boyfriend. Something to think about tomorrow.

After choosing a book, Michael came back to find Alex asleep, the near permanent vertical furrows between his brows relaxing and his mouth slack. His skin was still ashen, forehead shiny with renewed sweat. No, Michael did _not_ like this look on Alex at all.

He stripped down to undershirt and boxers and slipped into the far side of the bed, careful not to jostle the mattress. There was no change in the quiet snoring from Alex and Michael settled in, turning to the first page of the novel.

Hours later, the sound of the doorbell roused Michael from a restless sleep and he got up, moving the book from his chest to the night table and grabbing his jeans off the floor, doing them up as he moved. He stopped long enough to check on Alex, still deeply asleep. The level of water in the bottle had gone down since Michael had given Alex the second dose of anti-nauseants, so he'd been awake at some point, but the bucket was still empty and he didn't look so grey anymore, facts which pleased Michael.

In the interests of keeping Alex asleep, Michael hurried to the front door, peering through the peep hole then opening it with a friendly smile. "Hey, Forrest. Sorry if you had plans; Alex is sleeping. He was pretty sick last night."

Forrest raised his eyebrows. "I gather you were playing nursemaid?"

"Yeah, uh, I was asked to keep an eye on him," Michael explained, evasive. He didn't want to mention anyone else, where he hadn't been at the hospital with them and didn't really know the details of how it all had gone down. "He seems a little better this morning, but like I said, sleeping."

"Right," Forrest nodded. He seemed to accept the explanation, but his expression also suggested that he was thinking about something. His gaze landed on Michael's bare feet and he nodded again, seemingly to himself. "Okay, well, could you tell Alex I came by, please? And if he's up for it, we can still have a green code lunch together on Friday."

"A what? Green code lunch?" Maybe it was some new age thing he wasn't familiar with.

"He'll know what it is," Forrest assured.

"Okay," he shrugged. "I'll tell him."

"Thanks, Michael." The smile Forrest gave him was oddly soft, almost affectionate. "Take care."

With that he left, and Michael stared after him until his car was out of sight, vaguely unsettled though he couldn't say why. The exchange had been pleasant enough, the pertinent information imparted in both directions; there was no reason to feel weird. And yet.

He shrugged it off as best he could and went back into the house, pulling out his phone to text Kyle.

_[Michael] He took the 2nd dose but I don't think he needs any more. Sleeping, hasn't actually puked since getting home._

He'd expected Kyle to also be sleeping after a long shift, but the reply was near instantaneous.

_[Kyle] Good. Let him sleep. Flint is awake. He confused the nurse with questions he should have known the answer to. Neurologist being called in. I talked to Greg, he'll get down here as soon as he can._

Michael could read between the lines - the answers Flint didn't have were the ones Isobel had erased. So far, the crazy plan was working.

_[Michael] I'll tell Alex later. Lmk if anything changes._

The reply was swift and succinct.

_[Kyle] Ditto._

He pocketed the phone and headed back to the bedroom to finish getting dressed. The bed was made, fresh clothes laid across the pillow end, and the sound of running water from the ensuite indicated where Alex had gone. "So much for letting him sleep." Picking up his socks, Michael perched on the very end of the bed, trying not to disturb the smoothness of the bedspread as he got them onto his feet. He had one arm in his flannel shirt when the bathroom door opened.

"Morning," Alex greeted him, trying not to sound self-conscious as he swung over to the head of the bed on his crutches, clad only in his underwear. He could feel Michael's gaze on him but it wasn't the visual caress Alex was accustomed to; more like scrutiny. He sat near his clothes and twisted to look at Michael. "What?"

"You're the right colour again." He could see that Alex's skin had regained its customary warmth, instead of resembling a faded black and white photograph. "How are you feeling?"

"Much better," gusted forth in a sigh. "I feel good, actually. Not sore or nauseated at all. The fever seems to have broken, too, although you're welcome to take my temperature again."

The tone may have been teasing but Michael chose to focus on the words and he pulled out the thermometer. "Tilt your head, please."

Alex huffed and rolled his eyes, but he did tilt, feeling the light pressure against his ear. He watched Michael frown at the reading. "Problem?"

"No. It's slightly elevated still but only slightly, and you did just get out of a hot shower."

"I did," he smiled. "I honestly feel fine now, Guerin. Hungry, even - oh, shit," he grimaced, remembering he'd had breakfast plans.

"If that's about Forrest, he's been and gone. I let him know you were asleep after a bad night. He said to tell you he'd come by, and that he's available for a green code lunch on Friday if you want?" Michael kept his gaze on Alex, seeing his surprise give way to understanding, tinged with relief and annoyance. That was an interesting combination. "He said you'd know what it meant."

"I know," Alex confirmed. He donned his tee and reached for the sweatpants. "Where's my phone, did you take it out of my jeans?"

"Yeah, it's plugged in, right there." Whatever it meant, it seemed Alex had an opinion about it as he shimmied into the sweatpants and half stood, half leaned on the night table to retrieve his phone, before settling back against the pillows, thumbing at the screen where Michael couldn't see it. Which was totally fair - it wasn't any of his business. He elected to simply stand and wait for a minute.

Bringing up his messages, Alex clicked into the thread with Forrest, reading the new texts.

_[Forrest] I expect you'll know by now from Michael that he answered the door when I came to pick you up this morning. And that I extended an invitation to a green code lunch. It isn't because he was there; you know I trust you. It's because it seemed right for him to be there, on the inside of your doorway, and that says to me that it's time. That's why we agreed on a code, right? To make it easier for both of us._

_[Forrest] I mean it about lunch, though! Come hang with me Friday. This first time just the two of us, so we can kind of figure out what this looks like now, but next time we can maybe expand the group a little. Only if you're up to it - hope you feel better soon._

He read them again, letting out an incredulous laugh once he was done. So much for thinking about what he should do; Forrest had neatly taken the decision out of his hands, and for much the same reasons Alex had wanted to consider before calling time out on the romantic part of their relationship. He typed a quick response.

_[Alex] He told me but glad you did too. I feel alright, 24h thing I guess. Friday sounds good. Text me where and when._

The swift reply was a thumbs up emoji. Alex couldn't help the fond smile, despite the edge of... not sorrow, exactly. He didn't quite know how to catalogue how he felt about getting dumped and planning a meal with a friend, not just at the same time but also with the same person.

"Everything okay?" Michael was compelled to ask, beginning to get concerned.

"Yeah, yeah," he nodded. "Have you ever," he paused, letting out another disbelieving laugh, "ever had someone be, like... nice to you, in a way that you _know_ is genuine, but you still can't help wondering what you did to deserve it, or thinking that there has to be more to it?"

The question took Michael aback, before he acknowledged that perhaps Alex's own words hadn't stuck with him the way they had with Michael. He smiled and said, "People don't always have an agenda."

"Oh." He returned the smile, feeling warm for reasons that had nothing to do with his physical health. Alex forgot sometimes that he was once that open with people; it seemed like a different life, different person altogether to who he was now, well over a decade later. "I don't know if that was really smart or really naïve."

"Can't it be both?"

"That's probably the best way of looking at it, yeah." He regarded Michael, from the slightly frizzy, dishevelled curls to the big toe beginning to poke out of a worn spot in its sock. The tug of _want_ was hardly new but for the first time in forever, it didn't feel like something Alex needed to force down, control. He could just sit with the feeling - luxuriate in it, even. His gaze drifted back up to meet Michael's.

That, that was a look, right there. Michael wasn't sure what to do with it. He tried to deflect, "So, who was being nice? Forrest?" It fit with what he knew of the guy.

"As a matter of fact, it was. Giving me some more details on the green code thing."

"It's not a kind of lunch? You know, who can eat the most salad or something?"

Alex laughed. "No, Michael, it's not about the lunch. The lunch is just, two people getting food together. As friends." He watched Michael's brow furrow in further confusion. "Green code means we broke up."

"What the fuck?" he blurted, shocked. The fact that they had a term for it meant they'd decided on one at some point. He couldn't quite fathom it. "You _planned_ your breakup? Who does that?"

"Well, Forrest and I do. Did," he corrected. "It was logical to both of us, so we agreed on a phrase and a method, namely text message. The whole point was to make it easy, because we'd already talked about it." He could see Michael struggling with the notion and added, "We were never serious, Guerin. We figured that out early, and chose to use a signal when one of us hit the wall, basically."

"Right. That sounds... tidy." It matched the surroundings, the precision of the décor in Alex's house. Michael flexed his toes against the floor, aware without looking down that he had a hole in his sock, below the frayed edges of his jeans. He could be logical but he would never fit into a nice, neat box, nor did he want to. "Tidy isn't really my wheelhouse."

"No," Alex agreed, smiling. "No, you pull me out of pure logic, help me be a little more spontaneous, loosen up some. Get me to step outside my comfort zone." He cocked his head, watching Michael, choosing his next words carefully. "Sometimes I have stepped too far out of that zone and, consequently, snapped back into it. That was my own fault."

"Yeah, I guess." He could see that, wanting to be something you weren't, or getting caught up in the moment. They'd done a lot of the latter in the past. Not looking beyond the moment - not able to, for a myriad of reasons. "Well, my condolences, anyway. I imagine even casual breakups suck."

"Maybe a little. But it feels right, for both of us, so."

Michael nodded. "Uh, so you said you were hungry? I can make us something to eat? If you want, I mean. Or I can go. You're feeling better, you don't need monitoring anymore." Without a purpose, he wasn't sure he should still be here, whether he was welcome.

The offer surprised Alex and his smile widened. "Food sounds good, yes, please."

"Okay," Michael's answering smile was more shy than his customary smirk. "I'll look at what you've got and see what I can rustle up."

"And I'll make coffee, because I need some," Alex declared, both of them laughing as they exited the bedroom and headed for the kitchen together.

[end chapter nine]


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